Carron  saw  a  shadow  coming  down  the  walk 


SON  OF  THE  WIND 


LUCIA  CHAMBERLAIN 

Author  of 

THE  COAST  OF  CHANCE 
THE  OTHER  SIDE  OF  THE  DOOR 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

HERMAN  PFEIFER 


NEW    YORK 

GROSSET    &   DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1910 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


SON  OF  THE  WIND 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  MAN  ON   THE  ROAD 

I  DON'T  know  anything  about  it,"  the  man  stub- 
bornly insisted.  His  glance  ran  over  the  whole 
white-  and  black-spotted  canon,  over  the  ardent  blue 
horizon,  over  the  buttes  in  front,  swinging  back  like 
gates  to  show  where  the  mountains  began,  and  re- 
turned defiantly  to  Carron's  face.  "Don't  even  know 
there  is  such  a  thing,"  he  concluded. 

Carron  couldn't  help  smiling.  "You  were  very 
sure  there  was  only  a  little  while  ago."  He  paused 
interrogatively,  peering  from  the  hood  of  the  run- 
about. "Well,  say  you  did  overstate  the  facts,  sup- 
pose you  haven't  seen  it  yourself — sure  you  don't 
know  some  one  else  who  has  seen  it  ?" 

"No,  I  don't!"  he  said  loudly  and  sullenly.  He 
gave  the  speaker  a  rapid,  furtive  glance.  "I  don't, 
and  what's  more,  I  tell  you  if  I  did  I  wouldn't  let 
you  know  it — not  if  you  gave  me  a  thousand  dol- 
lars !"  He  was  working  himself  into  a  passion.  Car- 

i 


21346S9 


SON   OF.   THE  .WIND 

ron  stretched  his  neck  a  little  more  eagerly,  and  his 
incredulous  smile  quickened  with  excitement.  He 
looked  straight  through  the  resistance,  the  denials. 
For  a  moment  he  absorbed  the  aspect  of  that  figure 
planted  there  in  the  white  road ;  then  risked  the  reins 
and  got  out  of  the  runabout. 

The  fellow  seemed  ready  either  to  strike  him  or 
to  dart  away,  but  Carron  stood  quite  still.  "Look 
here,"  he  said  persuasively,  "we  both  talked  a  good 
deal  last  night,  but  you  seem  to  think  you  said  too 
much,  and  you  think  I  want  to  take  advantage  of  it. 
Well,  I  do.  What  you  told  me  has  taken  my  fancy, 
but  I  want  to  be  on  the  square  about  it.  Of  course, 
I  know  you  are  not  going  to  give  information  you 
are  not  supposed  to  give;  but  where's  the  harm  in 
telling  me  who  your  friends  are?  Then,  if  they  don't 
want  to  talk,  let  them  say  so,  and  that  will  be  the 
end  of  it." 

While  he  was  speaking  he  had  been  walking  leis- 
urely forward,  until,  as  he  ended,  he  stopped  just  in 
front  of  his  antagonist.  He  reached,  took,  and 
grasped  the  limp  left  hand,  drawing  it  forward  in 
front  of  him,  by  the  warmth  and  energy  of  his  own, 
forcing  a  nervous  involuntary  pressure  from  it.  He 
released  it,  and  it  stayed  as  if  hypnotized  out- 
stretched, palm  up,  with  a  gold  piece  of  twenty  dol- 
lars in  it. 

2 


THE   MAN    ON    THE   ROAD 

The  recipient  of  this  equivocal  coin  looked  at  it 
nervelessly.  His  face  had  the  overwhelmed  expres- 
sion of  one  who  finds  he  has  been  led  far  when  he 
thought  himself  standing  firm.  Then,  as  if  in  in- 
voluntary repudiation,  his  palm  stiffened,  his  fingers 
spread,  the  money  glimmered  at  the  point  of  sliding 
through  them — but  Carron,  with  a  clutch  of  his 
own,  doubled  the  fingers  to  a  fist. 

"Hang  on  to  it,"  he  said  reassuringly.  "It's  what 
we  agreed  on,  isn't  it  ?  It  hardly  pays  you  for  your 
trouble."  Seeing  his  argument  still  hung  fire  he 
ended,  "I'm  afraid  it's  going  to  be  a  dry  winter." 

The  man  looked  up  at  the  sky,  the  light  of  which 
seemed  to  whiten  the  whole  landscape,  then  down- 
ward at  his  worn  shoes,  then  at  his  hand  closed  like 
a  fist.  Some  reaction,  physical  as  well  as  mental, 
had  begun.  His  legs,  planted  in  the  posture  of  firm- 
ness, trembled,  his  eyelids  twitched ;  when  he  spoke 
his  voice  sounded  uncertain.  "Try  Rader's,"  he  mut- 
tered without  raising  his  eyes,  "first  turn  to  the  left 
as  you  go  ahead." 

"Rader's,  first  turn  to  the  left  as  you  go  ahead," 
Carron  repeated,  and  felt  amused.  It  was  like  a  vil- 
lage direction.  Here,  where  long  distances  led  be- 
tween mountains  and  immense  sky,  it  sounded 
too  scant.  He  hesitated,  foot  on  the  buggy  step,  but 
the  aspect  of  the  man  on  the  road  warned  that  fur- 

3 


SON   OE   THE  .WIND 

ther  asking  here  would  be  useless.  "Much  obliged," 
he  said,  and  got  in.  The  sight  of  the  forlorn  figure 
in  the  uninhabited  landscape  gave  him  pause.  "Can't 
I  give  you  a  lift  a  little  farther  along  the  road?" 

Without  raising  his  eyes  the  man  violently  shook 
his  head. 

"Well,"  Carron  said  cheerfully,  "I  suppose  you 
know  which  way  you're  going."  The  reins  tightened, 
the  mare  stepped  out. 

The  man  spoke  behind  him.  "Remember,  I 
haven't  heard  anything;  I  didn't  say  they'd  seen  it. 
I  don't  even  know  how  much  they  know  about  it." 

"I  understand,"  Carron  called  back.  "No  one 
there  is  going  to  hear  your  name  mentioned." 

If  he  had  felt  the  whiplash  the  fellow  couldn't 
have  flashed  into  keener  anger.  His  face,  already 
heavily  flushed,  took  on  a  purplish,  unhealthy  color. 
As  if  it  were  a  thing  that  could  be  hurt,  with  a  vio- 
lent gesture  he  threw  the  money  from  him.  It  shone 
and  sank  in  deep  dust. 

Carron,  with  the  reins  taut  in  his  hands,  while 
the  mare  sped,  stared  back  in  astonishment.  He 
wanted  to  laugh,  yet  he  felt  concerned.  "Damn  it 
all,"  he  thought,  "what  sent  him  off  at  half-cock 
again?  What  did  I  say?  What  a  fool!  Hey, 
Hey  I"  he  muttered  encouragingly  to  the  mare  that, 
hot  and  fretted  with  delay,  was  dancing  delicately 

4 


THE    MAN    ON    THE   ROAD 

sidewise ;  "why  the  devil  do  I  always  have  creatures 
on  my  hands  that  are  flying  to  pieces?" 

He  was  irritated  that  money  he  had  given  should 
be  thrown  away,  yet  he  felt  pity,  and  a  sort  of  re- 
sponsibility for  the  man  on  the  road,  as  he  was  in- 
clined to  feel  for  all  beings  weaker  than  himself. 
He  drew  the  mare  in  to  a  slow  undulating  pace  and 
looked  behind  him. 

Dust,  many  times  dry,  stood  up  in  a  cloud,  and  in 
that  haze  he  could  make  out  something  which  a  few 
minutes  before  might  have  been  an  upright  human 
figure,  but  now  had  become  more  like  an  animal  nos- 
ing for  a  scent,  crouching  close  to  the  ground,  mak- 
ing quick  darts  uncertainly  here  and  there  in  the 
road.  Carron  watched  with  dubious  amusement. 
"He'll  not  find  it  again — that's  sure ;  as  well  hunt  in 
a  pit  of  ashes.  Might  go  back  and  give  him  another." 
He  consulted  his  watch,  and  his  pockets.  "No,"  he 
determined,  "I'm  too  close  nipped  as  it  is — and  be- 
sides, if  he  has  misdirected  me,  as  for  all  I  know  he 
probably  has,  he's  only  got  what's  coming  to  him." 

But  this  last  conclusion  was  put  forth  for  com- 
fort. He  didn't  believe  it.  He  felt  as  certain  that 
the  fellow  had  spoken  the  truth  then,  as  he  had  been 
sure,  before,  that  he  had  lied.  Those  violent  denials, 
the  brazen  way  he  had  stood  ready  to  eat  his  words 
— they  had  been  but  so  many  reassurances  that  the 

5 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

thing  was  real.  And  then,  that  last,  scant  direction 
— three  words  fairly  squeezed  out  of  his  throat! 
Carron  had  the  unusual  sensation  of  seeing  his 
chimera,  his  gauzy  fable,  which  all  day  had  led  him 
like  a  mirage  threatening  each  moment  to  melt  into 
air,  now  suddenly  grown  possible  to  the  imagina- 
tion, palpable,  almost  solid. 

A  light  and  irresponsible  pleasure  quickened  in  his 
veins.  The  world  had  one  more  adventure  left, 
dangerous  enough,  but  not  too  serious.  The  figure 
of  the  man  on  the  road,  unpaid  by  his  own  act 
and  vainly  searching,  receded  from  his  mind.  He 
was  leaving  it  behind  with  the  dusty  high  valley,  the 
thin  trees  and  the  traveled  roads.  He  was  entering 
upon  the  unexpected  and  the  unwanted.  White  grass 
was  giving  place  to  growth  of  pine,  filling  the  sharp- 
ening canon.  Now  he  was  plunged  into  trees; 
again,  he  emerged  among  strewn  boulders  with  a 
sudden  little  lake  like  a  burning-glass  on  the  one 
hand.  In  the  bright  eye  of  this  he  saw  himself  and 
his  fretful  beast  reflected,  little  creatures  in  a  great 
landscape,  creeping  on  a  road  which  clung  to  the 
foot  of  the  cliffs.  Tremendous  heat  of  mid-after- 
noon hung  in  the  canon,  a  white  and  sparkling  light 
growing  ghostly  with  distance.  Straight  before  him, 
as  if  at  the  end  of  his  journey,  he  saw  the  two  rocks 
like  gates  flung  open  into  some  garden  of  mountains 

6 


THE    MAN    ON    THE    ROAD 

beyond,  and  from  there,  as  from  afar  off,  he  heard 
the  voice  of  an  exhausted  river.  There  was  no  other 
sound  except  the  intermittent  rattle  of  his  guns 
in  the  wagon  body,  and  the  knocking  of  his 
horse's  hoofs  on  the  road.  Not  a  cloud,  not  a 
bird's  wing,  nothing  moved  excepfhis  own  shadow, 
black  and  little,  at  his  feet.  He  welcomed  the  mag- 
nificent absence  of  his  kind.  It  was  solitude,  but  it 
was  not  desolation.  The  air  was  stimulating  and 
vital.  The  canon  was  peopled  with  curious  forms 
of  rock  and  tree — round  towers,  banners,  and  fig- 
ures which,  when  confronted,  were  not  figures.  Yet 
at  the  first  glimpse,  to  his  fancy,  they  took  always 
one  shape.  Twisted  pine,  sandstone,  shard,  the  im- 
age in  his  mind  flashed  into  the  senseless  stuff, 
animated  it  and  melted.  The  procession  of  cliffs 
separated  into  high,  round  hills.  Without  his  real- 
izing, without  his  seeing  how,  before  his  eyes  the 
trick  was  done.  Above  these  nearer  smaller  emin- 
ences, higher,  rockier  crests  multiplied.  Faces  of 
the  half -gods  in  sandstone  looked  on  him  humor- 
ously from  the  sky;  and  far  in  front  between  the 
open  gates  appeared  pale  summits  and  divides,  and 
highest  of  all,  a  peak  like  a  little  cloud. 

It  glimmered  before  him,  scarcely  seen  before  it 
was  being  shut  away.  The  gates  seemed  closing  upon 
it.  The  flank  of  a  hill  was  gliding  across  his  vision. 

7 


SON   OE   THE   WIND 

The  road  had  been  endlessly  turning  around  a  great 
base  of  rock,  and  now  he  was  aware  that  the  canon 
which  had  led  straight  before  him,  was  dropping 
away  to  the  right.  This  road  of  man,  as  if  it  dared 
not  follow  the  highway  of  the  gods,  was  perversely 
turning  aside  between  the  close,  round  slopes  of  two 
"sugar-loafs."  Carron  should  have  been  ready  for 
this.  But  he  had  been  rather  in  the  clouds.  Now,  he 
had  to  remember  that  unless  Rader  was  the  "old 
man  of  the  mountains"  himself  he  could  not  be 
found  in  that  citadel  of  high  peaks.  It  was  in  reason 
that  the  road  would  change,  yet,  in  spite  of  reason, 
he  felt  put  off  from  the  main  object  of  his  quest,  and 
he  looked  at  the  fresh  prospect  with  suspicion. 

It  was  a  narrow  glimpse,  a  mere  passageway 
through  into  a  different  country,  of  lower  sky-line 
and  thicker,  greater  companies  of  trees ;  and  square 
at  the  end  of  it,  so  close  it  seemed  to  close  the  gap, 
making  a  cul-de-sac,  was  a  low,  round  eminence — 
hill  rather  than  mountain — clothed  complete  in 
dusky  green.  He  had  scarcely  time  to  see  it,  to  note 
the  distinctive  air  it  had  among  the  rougher  outlines 
around  it,  like  a  personage  in  a  crowd,  before  it  was 
shut  from  sight  in  thickening  branches,  and  the  land- 
scape became  a  soft,  mysterious  thing  of  forest. 
Olive-green  and  gray  were  on  either  side  of  him, 
brown  underfoot.  There  was  a  diminishing  of  angles 

8 


THE    MAN    ON    THE   ROAD 

to  curves,  of  cliffs  to  gradual  rises.  The  road  was 
ascending,  not  abruptly,  but  with  the  long,  scarcely 
discernible  slope  which  indicates  the  general  trend 
of  the  country.  At  intervals  there  was  a  look  of 
openness  among  the  trees,  giving  him  fugitive  ex- 
pectations that  the  truthfulness  of  the  man  on  the 
road  was  about  to  be  vindicated.  But  the  way  led 
gradually  up  for  an  eternity  without  so  much  as  a 
rabbit  trail  to  interrupt  the  monotony  of  it ;  it  looked 
more  lonely  and  far  less  suggestive  of  life  than  the 
canon,  and  the  idea  intruded  more  and  more  upon 
his  mind  that,  after  all,  the  fellow  had  misdirected 
him.  The  thought  of  a  night  under  the  open 
sky  did  not  trouble  him;  but  the  thought  that 
he  had  been  mistaken  in  his  man  made  him  chafe. 
He  had  felt  so  sure,  yet  now  he  had  to  admit  that 
his  informer  must  have  had  every  practical  reason 
in  the  world  for  wanting  to  lead  him  astray.  He 
remarked  that  the  occasional  shafts  of  sun  which 
found  him  were  changing  from  white  to  yellow; 
then  that  there  was  no  longer  any  sun  at  all.  A 
great  shadow  lay  over  everything,  and  the  heat  was 
changing  to  freshness.  He  took  off  his  hat  the  bet- 
ter to  feel  the  fine  breath  of  the  air. 

Presently  the  monotonous  climb  was  interrupted 
by  an  unexpected  descent  into  a  gully,  or  little  canon. 
He  could  see  pools  of  water  standing  in  an  expanse 

9 


SON   OF.   THE   fWIND 

of  boulders,  and  connected  by  a  glow,  creeping 
thread  of  water. 

If  he  must  camp,  he  thought,  this  was  the  best 
place,  water,  and  safe  ground  for  a  fire.  But  camp, 
or  go  back,  or  go  on?  He  put  his  hand  into  his 
pocket,  regretting  that  there  were  not  three  sides  to 
a  penny,  and  peered  forward  between  the  tree  trunks 
at  the  other  side  of  the  bank  to  see  in  which  direction 
his  road  led.  At  first  it  seemed  to  him  that  it  cut 
away  to  the  right,  then  that  it  led  straight  on  before 
him.  Then  that  it  led  two  ways.  He  was  rather 
afraid  of  being  disappointed,  but  actually  there  was 
no  doubt  about  it. 

The  other  side  of  the  creek  gave  him  a  clearer 
prospect.  The  road  he  had  followed  skirted  around 
the  base  of  a  hill,  the  same  hill,  no  doubt,  that  he  had 
seen  from  afar,  set  castle-like  across  his  path,  but 
the  first  turn  to  the  left,  which  he  now  turned  into 
out  of  the  wider  track,  addressed  itself  direct  to 
the  ascent,  winding,  narrow,  steep  and  dim  in  the 
tunneled  trees.  Carron  kept  glancing  from  side  to 
side  of  it,  as  if  what  he  was  searching  for  might  at 
any  moment  start  out  on  him  through  the  flow  of 
leaves.  He  was  poised,  ready  for  the  next  thing  to 
happen,  alert  against  surprise,  though  the  trail  of 
events  he  was  following  should  double  upon  him  as 
unexpectedly  as  the  road,  which,  after  plunging  him 

10 


THE   MAN    ON   THE   ROAD 

around  mountains  and  into  canons,  was  finally  lead- 
ing him  up  into  the  high,  glimmering  twilight  of  a 
pine  forest.  Successive  chambers  of  yellow  light  and 
bluish  shadow  opened  before  him.  The  dimensions 
of  his  surroundings  were  decreasing.  Trees  became 
smaller;  distances  briefer  down  forest  aisles;  the 
sky,  with  its  diminished  blue,  seemed  closer  to  his 
head,  and  the  silence  was  the  only  thing  that  opened 
more  profoundly  around  him. 

His  mind,  like  a  ready  general,  scouted  over  the 
probabilities  of  who  and  what  in  the  shape  of  "Ra- 
der's"  might  be  awaiting  him,  perhaps  around  the 
next  turn  of  the  track — a  woodcutter's  shack,  or 
possibly  a  hunter's  encampment.  In  spite  of  his 
readiness  for  anything,  Carron  experienced  a  lively 
sense  of  astonishment  when,  after  a  half  mile  of 
unbroken  tree  and  shadow,  he  saw  in  front  of  him 
two  gaunt,  white  gate-posts.  To  say  there  was  a 
gate  there  would  have  been  inexact.  Whatever  had 
swung  between  them  once,  only  the  rusty  hinges  of 
it  remained,  and,  at  one  side  on  the  ground,  half 
buried  in  pine-needles,  lay  an  arch-shaped  piece  of 
wood.  Traces  of  whitewash  showed  upon  it,  and 
traces  of  what  once  might  have  been  black  lettering. 
The  thing  had  an  air  of  decaying  sophistication, 
grotesque,  melancholy,  absurd,  cast  away  here  in 
the  flourishing  forest.  The  idea  occurred  to  him 


SON   OK  THE   WIND 

that,  instead  of  a  woodman's  shanty,  he  might  be  ap- 
proaching some  old,  neglected  country  seat. 

A  flattening  of  the  ascent  into  the  almost  level 
and  a  slight  widening  of  the  road  ahead  warned  his 
eyes.  At  the  far  end  of  it  he  saw  what  seemed 
to  be  the  loop  of  a  drive.  The  pines  thinned,  and 
between  their  boughs  he  had  glimpses  of  a  house. 
The  trees  stopped  at  an  abrupt  clearing  and  im- 
mediately it  was  all  before  him — long,  pale  fagade, 
long,  naked  piazza,  and  long,  straight  rows  of  win- 
dows, an  austere,  sharp-angled  mass  in  the  dark 
circle  of  the  forest.  Before  he  realized  what  it  was, 
he  knew  it  was  nothing  that  he  had  expected.  It 
was  large,  but  not  imposing,  spacious  but  spare,  like 
a  place  flung  together  for  the  merest  utility  of  hous- 
ing room.  If  that  wing  of  the  building  extending 
to  the  left  suggested  in  its  proportions  and  weather- 
worn whitewash  some  kinship  to  the  gate-posts,  the 
main  body  of  the  house  declared  itself  unhesitat- 
ingly new.  After  a  moment's  looking  he  recognized 
what  it  must  be :  one  of  those  lesser  hotels  so  fre- 
quent in  the  redwoods  of  the  coast  mountains,  but 
here  in  this  high  isolation,  as  improbable  as  a  pony 
cart  or  a  tennis  racket.  He  was  astonished  to  find 
it  existing  here  in  the  middle  of  this  lopped-off 
clearing,  with  its  drive  made  broad  for  the  whirl  of 
many  wheels,  unused,  its  long  verandas  empty,  the 

12 


.THE   MAN   ON   THE   ROAD 

shades  of  all  the  upper  windows  drawn.  What  sort 
of  life  went  on  in  such  places  out  of  season  he  had 
never  before  reflected ;  but  that  there  was  living  of 
some  sort  was  now  before  him,  for  the  house  was 
far  from  shut  up,  and  wide-flung  doors  and  win- 
dows of  the  lower  story  vigorously  breathed  of 
agitated  dust. 

While  he  looked  a  tall  woman  with  a  white  cloth 
over  her  head  and  a  broom  in  her  hand  came  out  on 
the  piazza..  Seeing  Carron,  she  put  her  hand  to  the 
cloth  with  involuntary  deprecation.  There  was  sur- 
prise in  the  gesture,  but  no  confusion  at  the  sight  of 
a  stranger.  Something  in  her  way  of  looking  at  him 
suggested  that  strangers  were  more  usual  with  her 
than  friends.  He  took  the  half  turn  of  the  drive 
and  drew  up  at  the  steps. 

"Did  you  want  to  see — "  she  began,  but  her  faded 
voice  left  the  question  hanging  in  the  air,  as  if  there 
was  more  than  one  person  he  might  have  wanted. 

"Mr.  Rader,"  he  finished  for  her;  and,  at  that,  a 
fresh  surprise  was  added  to  her  query.  He  saw  her 
look  him  over  from  his  bare  head  to  his  boots ;  from 
the  horse  between  the  shafts  to  the  rifles  in  the  body 
of  the  runabout ;  knew  she  was  classing  him ;  knew, 
too,  that  this  was  something  he  couldn't  do  with 
her.  He  guessed  she  was  the  proprietor  of  this 
establishment,  but  this  failed  to  class  her  among 

13 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

hotel  keepers.  She  eluded  him,  even  while  he  saw 
her  adding  up  his  sum. 

"Do  you  mind  telling  me  what  you  want  to  see 
Mr.  Rader  about?"  she  said  at  last. 

He  had  been  expecting  this,  and  was  ready  for  it. 
"I  am  after  deer,"  he  explained.  "I  missed  my 
guide  at  Beckwith — left  word  for  him  to  join  me 
at  Mohawk,  and  came  along.  But  I  got  on  the  wrong 
road  somehow,  and  a  chap  I  met  a  few  miles  below 
here  told  me  that  Raders  might  take  me  in  over- 
night, and  put  me  on  the  right  road  back  in  the 
morning." 

She  came  forward  to  the  edge  of  the  porch  and 
stood,  leaning  on  her  broom  like  a  wand  of  office. 
She  looked  weary  and  scarcely  interested.  "We've 
closed  for  the  season,"  she  said.  "Why  don't  you 
go  down  to  Ferriers'  ?  It's  only  half  a  mile  along  on 
the  main  road." 

"But  my  mare  is  almost  done,  I  shouldn't  like  to 
take  her  any  farther  to-night.  Would  Mr.  Rader 
object  to  an  informal  boarder,  even  if  it  is  a  little 
out  of  season?" 

"Oh,  he!"  she  exclaimed,  as  if  Mr.  Rader  were 
not  at  all  the  question.  "But  the  house  is  so  upset, 
and  I  don't  keep  any  dining-room  girl  in  the  win- 
ter," she  hesitated. 

"I'm  not  a  fellow  who  is  much  trouble,"  Carron 


THE    MAN    ON   THE    ROAD 

urged.  He  looked  up  like  a  begging  boy  who  feels 
that  his  plea  is  already  half  won. 

She  hesitated,  but  her  quick  eyes  continued 
shrewdly  to  consider  him. 

His  black  hair  was  powdered  gray  as  a  wig  with 
dust.  Dust  clung  to  his  thick  eyebrows,  and  dust 
and  sweat  of  many  miles  was  on  his  face,  but  the 
fact  that  it  was  an  attractive  face  was  not  obscured. 
The  eyes  were  frank  and  persuasive ;  the  mouth  was 
cautious;  the  neck  sat  squarely  on  the  shoulders, 
firm  as  if  riveted  there.  Body  and  head  alike  bore 
a  suggestion  of  the  Greek — not  of  the  splendid 
statued  heroes,  but  of  the  light  lads  of  the  Parthenon 
frieze,  astride  of  horses,  and  inviting  fate  with 
brave,  objective  eyes. 

That  disarming  youthfulness,  that  outward  gaze 
which  seemed  so  sure  of  triumphs,  were  making  in- 
roads upon  the  resolution  of  the  woman  with  the 
broom.  She  hovered  at  the  cross-road  of  decision, 
while  a  sort  of  unready  sweetness  struggled  through 
her  formal  expression.  "I  am  going  to  like  her," 
Carron  thought,  and  thinking,  involuntarily  smiled 
at  her. 

"Well,  I  suppose  you  can  stay,"  she  said  reluc- 
tantly, as  though  the  smile  had  somehow  clenched 
the  matter  to  her  mind. 

He  was  out  of  the  buggy  before  she  could  have 
15 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

time  to  regret  her  decision.  "You  are  very  kind  to 
take  me  in,"  he  said  gratefully,  "and  my  mare,  too. 
She  would  be  worse  off  at  night  in  the  open  than  I. 
If  you  will  tell  me  where  the  stable  is,  I  will  get  her 
under  cover  immediately.  She's  too  hot  to  stand." 

The  woman  looked  apologetic.  "I  hate  to  have 
you  go  yourself,  but  there  is  no  one  here  now  that 
knows  much  about  horses." 

Carron  permitted  himself  a  moment's  wonder. 
What  about  Rader? 

She  lifted  her  voice  to  a  penetrative  note,  calling 
"Ge— o— o— rge." 

A  half-grown  boy  looked  out  at  the  door.  He  had 
a  singularly  vacant  face.  A  quantity  of  dirty 
clothes  were  in  his  hand,  an  apron  was  tied  around 
his  waist.  His  occupation  had  perhaps  been  that 
of  cleaning  windows. 

Mrs.  Rader  went  close  to  him,  put  her  hand  on 
his  shoulder  and  spoke  into  his  eyes  as  if  he  had 
been  a  deaf  person.  "George,  I  want  you  to  show 
this  gentleman  over  to  the  barn,  wait  there,  and  get 
him  anything  he  wants. — If  you  go  quite  close,  and 
take  hold  of  him,  and  look  at  him  when  you  talk," 
she  explained  to  Carron  aside,  "he  always  under- 
stands. He  knows  where  everything  is." 

Preceded  by  this  guide,  who,  unlike  the  natural 
boy,  seemed  unembarrassed  by  his  feminine  gar- 

16 


THE   MAN    ON    THE   ROAD 

ment,  and  walked  boldly  with  apron  strings  flutter- 
ing, Carron  led  the  chestnut  around  the  drive  past 
the  greater  entrance  and,  swinging  into  the  angle 
of  the  left  wing,  past  its  worn,  white  front,  with 
painted  decorations  of  wood  above  the  windows  and 
steps  going  up  to  a  little  door  retired  under  the  roof 
of  the  porch;  past  these  and,  just  beyond,  turned 
aside  down  a  wagon  track  which  branched  and  de- 
scended at  the  left  of  the  house.  The  barn  stood  in 
a  clearing  close-clipped  by  trees  with  brown  sift  of 
pine-needles  upon  its  roof.  It  was  large,  but 
of  an  appearance  as  dilapidated  as  the  gate-posts, 
and  Carron  thought  anxiously  of  the  chestnut's  wel- 
fare. The  boy  led  straight  through  the  door,  the 
lintel  of  which  sagged  alarmingly,  through  a  very 
cavern  of  ancient  odors,  cobwebs  and  echoes,  slid 
another  door  and  emerged  upon  quite  a  different 
place,  smaller,  well-kept,  altogether  more  modern — 
evidently  an  addition  built  upon  the  greater  stable. 
There  was  no  vehicle  in  the  carriage  house,  no  car- 
riage harness ;  a  few  bridles  hung  on  pegs.  The  only 
saddle  was  a  side-saddle.  There  were  three  stalls, 
one  occupied  by  a  mustang,  with  an  ugly  head  and 
prettily  built  legs,  two  empty.  In  the  first  of  these 
the  boy  strewed  straw  and  shook  down  hay.  The 
last,  evidently  habitually  occupied,  just  now  was 
empty. 

17 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

Carron  wondered  as  he  made  ready  the  irritable 
chestnut  for  her  night's  lodging,  whether  that  last 
stall  belonged  to  Rader's  horse.  The  thought  made 
him  anxious.  "Is  the  horse  that  belongs  in  that 
stall  coming  back  to-night?"  he  asked  the  boy  who 
had  come  out  of  the  harness  room  with  a  blanket 
over  his  arm. 

The  strange  creature  only  stared. 

Mindful  of  Mrs.  Rader's  advice,  Carron  went 
close  to  him,  but  some  lack  in  the  face  made  it  re- 
pugnant. He  could  not  bring  himself  to  touch  the 
fellow.  He  raised  his  voice  and  pointed  behind 
him.  "Is  the  horse  that  belongs  there,  in  that  stall, 
coming  back  to-night  ?" 

The  boy's  gaze  intensified,  seemed  to  concentrate, 
and,  if  the  face  had  not  been  so  blank,  Carron  would 
have  fancied  a  pale  glare  of  hostility  in  the  eyes; 
but  the  lips,  showing  a  faint  gleam  of  teeth  behind 
their  relaxed  line,  remained  unmoved. 

Carron  took  the  blanket  and  went  into  the  stall. 
He  felt  uncomfortable  out  of  reason.  While  he 
settled  the  covering  over  the  chestnut's  pettish  shoul- 
ders and  fastened  her,  he  had  an  uneasy  conscious- 
ness of  the  boy's  eyes,  like  an  observing  animal's, 
following  every  movement.  He  took  off  his  duster, 
flicked  off  his  boots,  shook  the  worst  dust  from  his 
hair,  gathered  up  the  gun  cases  in  the  back  of  the 

18 


THE   MAN    ON   THE   ROAD 

runabout  and  turned  to  go.  The  boy  was  standing 
motionless  with  his  arm  slightly  crooked  just  as  the 
blanket  had  been  taken  from  it;  but  when  Car- 
ron  turned,  he  slipped  rapidly  ahead  of  him  and 
disappeared  in  the  darkness  of  the  old  stable.  A 
flight  of  ghostly  little  echoes  announced  his  passing 
through.  Carron  waited  several  moments  before 
he  could  overcome  his  instinct  to  go  out  by  another 
way. 

"Queer  business,"  he  thought,  as  he  walked  back 
along  the  wagon  track.  "More  deaf  in  his  mind 
than  in  his  ears,  I  should  say.  I  wonder  if  he  un- 
derstood me!  Ugh!"  Moral  obliquity  he  could 
meet  with  untroubled  nerves,  but  deformity  in  body 
or  brains  disturbed  his  very  flesh.  He  glimpsed  the 
white,  turbaned  head  of  the  proprietress  peering  for 
him  from  the  porch,  and  that  brought  back  his  more 
important  perplexity.  "How  in  the  deuce  am  I  to  get 
at  this  Rader?"  he  pondered.  "I  shall  have  to  per- 
suade that  good  soul  to  keep  me  another  night.'* 
Lacking  a  hat,  he  raised  his  hand  in  salute  as  she 
caught  sight  of  him. 

"Your  room  is  ready,"  she  said.  "I  have  had  to 
put  you  in  the  old  wing  where  we  live  in  the  winters. 
I  hope  you  don't  mind." 

"I  shall  like  it  above  all  things — better,  I  am  sure, 
than  the  new  part,"  Carron  declared,  and  was  di- 

19 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

verted  to  see  her  glance  at  him  as  if  she  suspected 
he  must  be  joking. 

He  followed  her  across  the  piazza  and  down  a 
wide,  dust-disturbed  hall,  from  which  gaping  doors 
gave  on  wide,  dust-disturbed,  dismantled  drawing- 
rooms  ;  across  a  high  and  glaring  dining-room,  with 
turrets  of  chairs  tottering  on  the  glassy  tables,  and 
out  into  a  hall,  dark  after  the  long  spaces  of  white, 
pine  walls  and  glistening  floors,  narrow,  used  and 
old,  with  windows  looking  direct  into  the  trees,  and 
an  unruffled  air  smelling  faintly  of  the  forest.  Sev- 
eral doors  opened  from  here,  some  white,  worn 
almost  to  the  wood,  others  freshly  painted,  but  all 
of  the  same  design,  rather  low,  narrow-paneled  and 
with  eyebrows  of  cut  woodwork.  A  staircase  clam- 
bered between  two  walls,  and  up  this  the  propri- 
etress led  him,  across  another  hall,  and  with  the 
flinging  open  of  a  door,  he  found  himself  presented 
to  a  large  room,  with  windows  thinly  veiled  in 
muslin,  and  looking  abruptly  into  the  pines.  The 
light  which  sifted  through  their  branches  came  pale 
and  greenish  like  light  through  water.  The  yellow 
reflection  of  a  wood  fire  darted  along  the  floor. 

"There's  a  bath-room  through  that  door,  the  one 
on  the  right,"  his  conductress  said,  indicating  with 
a  wave  of  her  hand;  "and  if  you  will  leave  your 
boots  and  things  outside  I'll  see  they  are  cleaned 

20 


THE    MAN    ON    THE   ROAD 

and  brushed.  It's  a  very  dusty  trip  up  here.  I  will 
tell  you  when  dinner  is  ready."  She  gave  him  a 
long,  doubtful  look  in  which  she  somehow  expressed 
a  wish  that  he  had  not  persuaded  her  to  entertain 
him,  then  turned  away,  softly  shutting  the  door. 

Left  alone,  Carron  let  his  gun  cases  slip  to  the 
floor.  "Of  all  extraordinary  places!"  he  thought, 
but  then  he  looked  around  the  room  and  smiled.  It 
was  of  a  piece  with  a  little  hall  below.  He  suspected 
its  kinship  to  the  gaunt,  white  gate-posts.  It  was 
nai've,  ornate,  somewhat  worn,  yet  with  an  amusing 
air  of  being  grand.  He  felt  a  charm  in  it  in  spite  of 
the  jig-saw  carvings — or  possibly  because  of  them. 
His  eyes  lingered  at  the  mantelpiece,  of  most  as- 
tonishing flourishes,  appreciated  the  landscape 
painted  on  the  foot  of  the  bed,  moved  with  quick- 
ness across  the  light,  blank  walls,  and  inadvertently 
caught  sight  of  himself  in  a  mirror. 

He  thought  he  could  understand  his  landlady's 
hesitation  now.  "Takes  me  for  a  burglar  rather 
poorly  disguised,"  he  reflected.  In  the  excite- 
ment of  his  arrival  he  had  forgotten  his  appear- 
ance as  well  as  his  fatigue.  Now  he  abandoned  his 
outer  garments  to  the  banisters  of  the  hall,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  rolled  into  cold  water  as  a  fish  to  its 
native  element.  The  weariness  of  twenty- four 
hours'  activity,  the  exhaustion  of  body,  of  brain  and 

21 


SON   OF   THE  LWIND 

of  a  will  which,  all  day,  had  exerted  pressure  on 
a  will  in  revolt — slipped  from  him,  absorbed  by  the 
icy  stimulant.  Even  while  he  wallowed  there,  his 
fancy,  refreshed,  took  time  to  speculate  on  what 
sort  of  mind  the  fellow  must  have  had  who  had 
conceived  the  remarkable  decoration  of  the  bath- 
room ceiling.  Hard-rubbed,  reclothed,  with  an 
agreeable  consciousness  of  quicker  blood  in  his 
veins  and  a  brain  fully  ready  again  not  only  to  make 
light,  but  to  make  capital  of  his  difficulties,  he  re- 
entered  the  bedroom. 

He  saw  first  his  gun  cases  on  the  floor.  He 
gathered  them  up,  and  carefully  drew  out  one  of 
the  rifles.  The  bright  firelight  showed  an  un- 
scratched  barrel  and  lighted  a  stock  that  had  never 
lain  on  the  ground,  never  perhaps  even  felt  the 
pressure  of  a  shoulder.  He  turned  it.  His  eye 
caught  sight  of  a  tiny  green  oval  of  paper  pasted 
on  the  under  side  of  the  stock.  He  raised 
his  eyebrows,  and  scratched  the  green  paper  deli- 
cately off.  "I  ought  to  have  fired  those  things  a  few 
times  on  the  way  up,"  he  thought.  "Still  it  won't 
do  any  harm  to  let  them  suppose  I  am  a  green 
hunter."  He  laid  both  rifles  on  the  bed,  put  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  and  strolled  across  to  a  win- 
dow. It  faced  on  the  clearing.  At  his  left  he 
could  see,  projecting,  the  fagade  of  the  newer  house, 

22 


THE    MAN    ON    THE   ROAD 

and  directly  beneath  him  the  steps  leading  up  to  the 
side  entrance.  He  glanced  at  the  other  windows 
of  the  room,  which  looked  into  the  trees,  and  was 
caught  by  the  fact  that  one  of  them  was  a  door.  It 
was  the  upper  half  of  glass  that  had  been  misleading. 
He  opened  it.  The  sweet  breath  of  the  pines  rushed 
upon  him.  He  was  looking  from  a  narrow  balcony 
down  a  flight  of  outside  stairs  to  the  floor  of  the 
forest.  Above  him  the  pale  color  of  sunset  was  in 
the  sky. 

"Very  pleasant,"  he  murmured,  and  stood  softly 
whistling,  surveying  it.  His  eyes  were  half  closed, 
and  he  appeared  to  be  dreamily  speculating  on  the 
charming  twilight  around  him.  In  fact  he  did  not 
see  it.  His  thoughts  were  turned  inward.  He  was 
speculating,  with  intensest  concentration,  upon  Ra- 
der. 


CHAPTER  II 

RADER 

TO  speculate  on  Rader's  character  would  have 
been  a  vain  thing,  worthy  of  a  philosopher. 
If  Rader's  personality  was  reflected  in  this  hotel  on 
the  fringe  of  civilization,  with  its  patchwork  of  new 
upon  old,  then  Rader  most  probably  was  a  broken- 
down  speculator,  clinging  to  the  pretensions  of  his 
past.  But  Carron  knew  that  people  are  never  what 
they  are  deduced,  and  seldom  what  they  are  expected 
to  be.  It  would  be  time  enough  to  think  of  Rader's 
character  once  he  had  appeared.  The  important 
question  now  was,  where  was  he  ? 

Doubtless  he  was  away  hunting.  If  that  were  so, 
would  he  be  back  to  dinner?  or  would  he  be  away 
several  days,  and  was  it  a  question  of  hanging  on 
here  until  he  returned?  That,  Carron  thought, 
would  not  be  so  difficult  in  itself.  He  felt  rather 
confident  of  overcoming  Mrs.  Rader's  doubts.  But 
to  wait,  when  time  never  waits,  when  everything 
was  so  pressing,  when  this  strange  latter  summer, 
lingering  in  the  first  of  September,  might  at  any  time 
chill,  and  the  sky  send  torrents  of  rain !  And,  even 

24 


RADER 

if  the  heat  held,  what  guarantee  had  he  of  the  stabil- 
ity of  his  dearly  fancied  object?  If  only  it  had  been 
insensate — a  gold  mine,  anything  that  could  be  de- 
pended on  to  remain  in  one  place ! 

He  turned  restlessly  and  shut  the  outer  door. 
Standing  still  and  awaiting  events  was  a  thing  he 
hated.  He  crossed  the  room,  opened  the  door  into 
the  hall,  and  stood  idly  listening.  Not  a  sound  of 
voices,  no  arrival  of  wheels,  not  even  the  rustle  of 
a  woman's  skirt !  He  wandered  down  the  stair,  and 
found  the  hall  below  like  a  dark  pocket.  While  he 
stood,  hesitating,  wondering  in  which  direction  to 
grope,  and  into  what  sort  of  place  he  might  pre- 
cipitate himself  supposing  he  would  find  a  door,  one 
almost  in  front  of  him  opened,  the  light  of  a  candle 
spotted  the  dark,  and  beside  it  Mrs.  Rader's  face. 

At  sight  of  him  so  close  before  her  she  started. 
The  candle  flame  quivered.  "How  you  frightened 
me!"  she  panted. 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Carron  mildly,  "but  I'm  so 
hungry !" 

"Dinner  is  ready.  I  was  just  coming  to  call  you. 
You  know,"  she  looked  at  him  accusingly,  "I  told 
you  that  I  would." 

He  held  open  the  door  for  her,  and,  after  a  funny 
flutter,  as  if  she  were  not  sure  that  her  guest  ought 
not  to  go  first,  she  let  him  follow  her  through. 

25 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

A  lamp  was  on  the  table — and  three  places  were 
set.  Carron's  pulse  of  anticipation  rose;  but  no 
third  person  came  to  occupy  that  place,  no  mention 
of  such  a  one  was  made,  and  the  meal  was  not  kept 
waiting.  Carron  and  Mrs.  Rader  were  opposite 
each  other.  She  had  discarded  her  white  head  cov- 
ering, and  showed  plentiful  brown  hair,  streaked 
with  gray,  drawn  back  smoothly  from  her  small, 
irregular-featured  face.  In  spite  of  fine  multiplying 
lines  and  weathered  skin,  it  still  kept  a  vague  hint 
of  the  charm  of  her  youth,  though  just  wherein 
that  charm  had  consisted  was  difficult  to  say. 
Carron  had  never  seen  a  face  so  limited  to  one 
expression — an  impersonal,  alert,  attentive,  practical 
expression — and  he  had  never  seen  such  uncommu- 
nicative eyes.  For  the  sake  of  enlivening  them  a 
little  he  began  a  story  of  some  adventures  of  his 
two  days  before  on  the  Sacramento  boat.  She  lis- 
tened attentively  with  a  faint  propitiatory  smile; 
but  he  thought  she  was  more  struck  by  the  fact 
that  he  talked  to  her  than  by  what  he  said.  Her 
struggle  to  do  her  part  in  the  conversation  was 
touching.  Her  capacity,  as  he  had  seen,  was  prompt 
enough  in  practical  matters.  No  doubt  she  could 
deal  successfully  with  the  more  important  problems 
of  a  hotel,  from  people  trying  to  leave  without  pay- 
ing to  people  dropping  in  without  baggage.  But  to 

26 


RADER 

keep  alive  a  conversation  with  a  man,  and  a  stran- 
ger, was  a  burden  to  her.  He  watched  her,  bolt 
upright,  wrestling  with  the  problem  of  his  intel- 
lectual entertainment  as  if  they  were  at  a  dinner  of 
state.  He  wondered  whether  her  extreme  formal- 
ity was  due  to  shyness  on  her  part,  or  some  idiosyn- 
crasy of  his  that  made  her  uneasy. 

She  let  her  end  of  the  conversation  flag  and,  for 
lack  of  his  response,  fall;  and  made  that  scarcely 
perceptible  stir  that  women  do  before  rising.  He 
had  heard  it  rustle  in  satin  skirts,  around  far-off 
dinner  tables,  as  he  heard  it  now  in  the  calico  gown 
of  this  woman  of  the  broom. 

He  leaned  forward  and  stopped  her  with  a  ques- 
tion that  seemed  in  no  way  designed  to  stop  her.  "Is 
there  much  hunting  around  here,  Mrs.  Rader  ?" 

"There's  lots  of  game,  if  that's  what  you  mean," 
she  said,  "but  almost  no  one  ever  comes  up  so  far. 
If  you're  going  higher  up  still  I'm  afraid  you'll  find 
it  very  lonely." 

The  idea  of  going  hunting  for  company's  sake 
tickled  Carron.  "Then  perhaps  you'll  let  me  stay  on 
here  a  few  days,"  he  suggested. 

"Oh,  I'm  afraid—"  she  began. 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Rader  can  take  a  day  off,  and 
give  me  more  points  about  this  part  of  the  country 
than  my  guide  can." 

27 


SON   OF.   THE  ,WIND 

"But  he—" 

"I  mean,"  Carron  explained,  "as  soon  as  he  gets 
back.  He's  not  to  be  gone  long,  is  he  ?" 

"Why,  he  isn't  away,"  she  exclaimed.  "He's 
here!" 

"Oh!"  Carron  murmured.  He  looked  keenly  at 
her.  Involuntarily  he  glanced  at  the  empty  place. 

"He  often  doesn't  come  in  to  supper,"  Mrs.  Rader 
explained. 

"Well,  then — "  he  hesitated.  Finding  himself  so 
suddenly  all  but  upon  Rader  was  embarrassing  as 
well  as  exciting.  "Do  you  think  he's  busy  this  even- 
ing?" 

In  her  turn  Mrs.  Rader  was  surprised.  "He  isn't 
busy,  exactly,  but  I'm  afraid,"  she  smiled  faintly, 
"he  doesn't  know  much  more  about  hunting  than 
I  do." 

"No  doubt  you  both  know  much  more  than  I  do. 
Do  you  think  perhaps  he  could  spare  me  a  few  min- 
utes?" 

"Oh,  yes."  She  looked  at  him  more  curiously 
than  she  had  since  his  first  arrival.  He  thought  she 
was  about  to  offer  another  objection,  but  she  only 
said,  "Would  you  like  to  see  him  now  ?" 

"If  it  is  convenient."  He  tried  to  make  the  an- 
swer sound  casual  enough,  but  he  was  beginning  to 
have  the  most  uneasy  expectations  of  Rader. 

28 


RADER 

She  opened  the  door,  and  toolc  up  one  of  the 
lighted  candles.  "Then  you  will  step  this  way.  He's 
in  the  study." 

Again  Carron  recognized  the  unexpected — that 
Rader  was  to  be  found  in  a  study  instead  of  in  an 
office.  It  seemed,  not  only  that  hotels  had  lives  out 
of  season,  but  that  their  owners  had  lives  outside 
of  hotel-keeping.  Mrs.  Rader's  candle  led  down  a 
long,  black  passage.  The  flame  threw  no  smaller 
light  on  the  darkness  than  her  chance  phrases  and 
expressions  had  thrown  on  the  possibilities  of  her 
husband's  personality.  But  there  had  been  glimpses 
out  of  the  obscurity  in  passing — such  gleams  as  the 
candle  caught  from  window-panes,  or  pine  branches 
beyond  them — chance  illuminations  of  words  upon 
individualities,  that  put  edge  to  Carron's  anxiety. 

The  light,  which  had  led  him  like  a  will-o'-the- 
wisp,  stopped  now  at  a  door,  closing  the  end  of  the 
passage.  This,  Mrs.  Rader  knocked  upon,  and, 
after  a  moment,  opened.  "Some  one  to  see  you/* 
she  said  to  one  inside,  and  Carron  stepped  over  the 
worn  threshold,  down  a  worn  step  into  a  little  round 
room;  and  found  himself  facing  Rader,  who  had 
risen  from  his  chair,  and,  with  his  glasses  gleaming 
above  the  high  arch  of  his  brow,  with  his  shadow 
towering  on  the  wall  behind  him,  was  looking  out 
at  Carron  from  twilight  walls  of  books. 

29 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

He  seemed  bewildered  with  this  sudden  introduc- 
tion into  his  solitude  of  a  strange  presence.  His 
large  blue  eyes  blinked  slowly,  like  eyes  just  awaken- 
ing; and  though  his  long  face  presently  collected  a 
sort  of  courteous  attention,  his  gaze  still  seemed  to 
focus  on  some  point  remote  from  the  present 
moment  and  place.  If  there  was  any  one  in  the 
world  less  likely  than  the  woman  to  have  the  cer- 
tain peculiar  information  Carron  wanted,  he  thought 
it  was  this  individual,  this  long  figure  of  a  scholar, 
roused  from  meditation.  All  Carron's  unsubstantial 
hopes  were  tottering.  The  man  on  the  road  ap- 
peared the  merest  liar,  the  whole  thing  the  wildest 
of  chases.  Yet,  in  spite  of  that,  he  felt  he  was  going 
to  see  it  through.  There  was  nothing  that  had  ever 
happened  to  him  that  he  had  failed  to  see  through. 
The  quality  in  him  that  never  released  what  it  had 
once  taken  hold  of  until  all  was  out  of  it,  that  took 
the  last  chance  and  found  it  more  alluring  than  the 
first,  urged  him  forward. 

"My  name  is  Francis  Carron,"  he  said.  "There 
is  my  card.  Mr.  Rader,  I  believe?" 

Rader  looked  a  little  startled  with  the  rapidity 
with  which  the  sentences  were  shot  at  him.  "You 
came  to  see  about  the  Bronson  folio?"  he  asked 
doubtfully. 

Carron  had  it  in  his  heart  to  laugh  when  he 
30 


RADER 

thought  of  what  a  business  he  had  brought  to  the 
dry  leaves  of  a  library.  The  idea  of  introducing 
himself  as  a  buyer  of  old  editions  danced  a  moment 
in  his  brain ;  but  he  had  spent  his  life  being  himself 
with  an  intensity  which  defied  the  hope  of  dissimu- 
lation now.  "I  came  to  see  you  on  business,  Mr. 
Rader,"  he  explained,  "but  not  about  a  folio — in 
fact,  not  about  books  at  all." 

The  scholar  glanced  wistfully  toward  the  door 
which  the  woman  had  closed  after  her.  "Then,  per- 
haps you  had  better  see  Mrs.  Rader,"  he  began. 

(CT >J 

But  Carron's  wits  were  hard  on  Rader's  second 
conclusion.  "No,  it  isn't  about  the  hotel  either.  I 
am  afraid  it  is  you  yourself  I  want  to  see;  but,  if  I 
disturb  you  now — " 

The  scholar  made  a  deprecatory  gesture.  "I  beg 
your  pardon.  Sit  down.  I  am  absent-minded,  only 
that — Mr. — "  he  fumbled  helplessly  in  his  memory. 

"Carron,"  the  other  prompted. 

"Carron,"  Rader  repeated,  and  moved  his  glasses 
down  his  forehead,  clamping  them  upon  the  high 
bridge  of  his  nose,  and  through  these,  considered  the 
card.  The  owner  of  it  watched  him  keenly,  but  un- 
doubtedly that  assemblage  of  letters  on  white  paper 
held  no  idea  for  Rader  beyond  the  fact  that  it  was  a 
name.  With  a  faint  sigh,  he  let  himself  stiffly  down 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

into  his  chair  again,  withdrew  his  fingers  from  the 
leaves  of  a  book,  and  by  that  motion  seemed  to  re- 
linquish all  hope  of  waving  his  visitor  aside.  The 
lamp  on  the  desk  between  them  lighted  the  two  men 
to  each  other,  the  scholar  leaning  a  little  forward, 
looking  puzzled,  but  scarcely  curious. 

Carron  knew  he  was  in  for  it  now,  on  the  instant. 
All  his  plans  for  approaching  his  question  gradually, 
through  the  common  ground  of  similar  interests, 
hunting  and  the  activities  of  mountaineers,  vanished. 
It  was  across  a  gulf  of  widely  differing  thought  that 
he  must  pitch  his  question  at  the  scholar,  the  more 
flatly  the  better  to  hold  the  attention  that  seemed 
each  moment  to  be  at  the  point  of  deserting  him. 

"It's  not  quite  a  piece  of  business  I  want  to  talk 
to  you  about,"  he  said.  "It  is  a  favor  I  want  to  ask 
of  you.  There  has  been  a  rumor  through  the  Sac- 
ramento Valley,  and  through  the  mining  towns  be- 
low here  of  a  stallion  at  large  among  these  moun- 
tains." 

Rader's  high  eyebrows  flickered,  and  his  head 
moved  a  little  forward  on  his  long  neck.  It  was 
only  an  intensifying  of  his  look  of  polite  attentive- 
ness.  "A  horse  you  have  lost  ?" 

It  forced  a  reluctant  smile  out  of  Carron. .  "No, 
Mr.  Rader,  not  a  horse  that  any  one  has  lost ;  a  horse 
that  has  never  been  found ;  a  horse  that  I  very  much 

32 


RADER 

wish  to  find  for  myself;  not  a  mustang,  not  a  range 
pony,  but  a  blooded  stallion,  fifteen  hands,  black 
and  perfect ;  not  a  horse  that's  been  left  too  long  on 
the  range  and  become  wild,  but  the  original  wild 
horse  that  no  one  has  ever  ridden,  or  ever  caught, 
or  rarely,  if  ever,  seen." 

He  got  out  the  last  words  with  an  effort,  fully 
conscious,  now  that  they  were  spoken  and  ringing 
in  the  air,  of  how  improbable,  fantastic  and  laugh- 
able they  sounded.  He  braced  himself  to  meet  Ra- 
der's  ridicule,  or,  at  the  best,  his  amusement.  But 
the  scholar,  with  his  long  body  bent  a  little  farther 
forward  over  the  table,  was  only  gazing  at  him 
with  a  face  of  increasing  perplexity,  with  a  slow- 
dawning,  troubled  look  of  being  aware  of  something 
he  was  going  to  recognize  if  only  he  had  a  little 
more  time. 

Carron  watched  him,  and  pushed  one  sentence 
further. 

"No  one  seemed  to  be  sure  how  much  truth  there 
was  in  the  story,  or  whether  there  was  any  at  all, 
but  they  seemed  to  think,  if  any  one  could  tell  me, 
you  could." 

The  effect  of  this  was  more  than  he  had  bargained 
for.  Rader  let  his  relaxed  hands  fall  on  the  table, 
and  stared  in  amazement.  "I  can — they  think !"  he 
murmured,  seeming  to  catch  at  these  words  as  the 

33 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

chief  points  of  his  confoundment.  "Who  told  you 
that?  Who  do  you  mean  by  they ?" 

"Then  you  do  know  about  it?"  Carron  said  qui- 
etly. 

The  scholar  seemed  not  to  have  heard. 

"People  in  different  parts  of  the  valley  have  di- 
rected you  to  me,  on  this  errand?"  he  persisted. 
"Why,  that's  a  strange  thing !" 

Looking  into  his  candid  and  bewildered  eyes,  Car- 
ron knew  he  was  going  to  be  frank  with  Rader  at 
the  expense  of  the  man  on  the  road.  "For  a  fact, 
Mr.  Rader,"  he  confessed,  "it  was  one  person  who 
directed  me  here,  only  one;  and  he  didn't  want  to. 
I  had  to  work  to  get  it  out  of  him." 

Rader's  expression  came  around  slowly  from  flat 
incredulity  to  a  fresh  query.  "Well,  why  shouldn't 
he  direct  you?" 

"That  was  what  I  thought,"  said  Carron,  as  puz- 
zled now  by  Rader  as  Rader  was  by  the  man  on  the 
road,  "but  I  supposed  it  was  because  you  had  asked 
him  not  to." 

"I?"  Rader  repeated.  He  seemed  to  have  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  connecting  himself  with  the 
matter  at  all.  "Why  the  deuce  should  I  ask  him 
not  to?" 

Carron  stared.     "If  you  haven't,  some  one  has." 

The  scholar  silently  confronted  this  cryptic  re- 
34 


RADER 

sponse,  and  presently  it  appeared  that  his  perplexity 
had  lessened,  had  been  transformed  into  a  slow, 
ruminating  consideration.  "What  makes  you  think 
that?"  he  asked. 

"Because  he  had  it  badly  on  his  conscience  that 
he  ought  not  to  have  told  it." 

Rader  gave  a  slight  upward  motion  of  his  head, 
and  a  lift  of  his  eyebrows  as  if  at  a  wbrd  more  he 
might  accept  that  explanation.  "Where  did  you 
meet  this  fellow?" 

"I  was  on  my  way  to  the  city  from  Nevada  with 
some  horses,"  Carron  said,  "when  I  ran  across  him 
in  Truckee  last  night.  I  got  in  early  in  the  evening 
and  found  the  train  wouldn't  leave  until  after  mid- 
night. This  chap  was  hanging  around  the  livery 
when  I  put  my  horses  up." 

"What  did  he  look  like?"  Rader  hastily  inter- 
rupted. 

Carron  was  aware  that  he  had  the  scholar  inter- 
ested at  last,  and  the  power  to  speak  rose  in  him  to 
meet  the  flattery.  "Oh,  middle  height,  small  joint- 
ed, a  little  knock-kneed,  if  I  remember;  black  hair, 
Napoleonic  profile  minus  the  strength — young 
ranchman  in  his  Sunday  clothes."  Rader  ticked 
off  the  characteristics  on  his  fingers  while  he 
listened.  "He  had  some  whisky  in  him,"  Carron 
continued,  "and  was  rather  free  about  disparag- 

35 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

ing  my  stock.  He  handled  them  all  over,  not; 
very  cleverly,  nearly  got  himself  kicked,  and  then 
trailed  me  up  to  the  hotel  to  tell  me  he  could 
throw  a  stone  across  the  road  and  kill  a  horse  any- 
where in  the  Sacramento  Valley  that  could  beat 
mine  at  every  point.  He  was  rather  glib  with  his 
tongue,  and  I  had  four  hours  to  wait,  so  I  invited 
him  to  come  in  and  give  me  his  ideas  on  horseflesh. 
There's  a  little  back  room  in  the  top  story,  looking 
up  a  stone  dump  that  they  call  a  mountain.  I  gave 
him  one  pony  of  rye  to  start  him.  We  sat  there  for 
six  hours. 

"He  began  by  giving  his  experiences  in  horse- 
breaking,  though  from  a  sort  of  callous  on  his 
hands,  and  the  way  he  handled  his  feet  I  thought 
he  had  been  more  accustomed  to  horses  in  front  of  a 
plow  than  under  saddle.  Then  he  got  off  on  famous 
horses  he  had  seen,  most  of  which  had  died  before 
he  was  born;  and,  finally,  of  course,  he  began  to 
wind  himself  up  on  a  horse  he  owned  that  could 
beat  everything  in  the  state  of  California.  Just 
there  it  struck  me  he'd  graduated  from  the  lying 
stage.  Something  in  the  way  he  described  that 
horse — those  particulars  that  a  man  can't  invent 
— made  me  think  it  wasn't  a  piece  of  imagina- 
tion. He  built  up  a  stock  farm  around  it  in  a  few 
minutes,  but  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the  real 

36 


RADER 

thing  in  it  was  the  horse.  So  I  pinned  him  down, 
and  kept  him  pinned — and  not  too  much  rye — until 
we'd  got  rid  of  the  stock  farm,  canceled  the  fact 
that  the  horse  was  his,  and  got  down  to  what  looked 
like  bedrock — which  is  just  the  story  I  have  told 
you,  that  the  creature  was  a  wild  horse  running 
free  in  these  mountains.  The  only  difference  he 
made  then  was  that  he  swore  on  his  sacred  honor 
that  he  was  the  only  man  in  the  state  of  California 
who  had  ever  seen  it." 

Rader  took  his  long  chin  in  his  hand  and  medi- 
tated for  a  moment.  "Xenophon,"  he  said,  "states 
that  wild  horses  inhabit  countries  of  plains,  travel 
in  bands,  and  that  the  stallions  are  not  found  sepa- 
rately from  the  mares." 

"Quite  right  he  is,"  Carron  assented,  as  if  Xeno- 
phon were  easily  his  contemporary;  "a  lone  stallion 
is  as  rare  as  a  singing  bird  at  sea ;  but  still  there  are 
exceptions.  Once  in  a  while  a  dry  summer  brings 
it  about.  A  horse  drifts  into  the  mountains  in  search 
of  water.  And  then,  there  was  another  thing  that 
made  me  think  perhaps  there  was  something  in  the 
fellow's  story.  If  you  want  to  know,  it's  the  thing 
that  brought  me  here.  When  he  described  that 
horse  to  me  I  thought  he  described  a  horse  that  I 
had  seen  once  myself." 

"Ah!"  but  the  word  did  not  express  Rader's  en- 
37 


lightenment — only  a  fresh  perplexity.  "But,  I 
thought  you  said — " 

"One  moment.  I'm  coming  to  that  presently.  I 
only  wanted  you  to  see  that  I  wasn't  so  drunk  or 
so  visionary  as  that  poor  devil  who  brought  me 
along,  though  I  own  that  I  was  pretty  much  ex- 
cited. He  wanted  a  hundred  dollars  for  taking  me 
up  country  to  the  place  where  the  creature  was  sup- 
posed to  be.  I  told  him  I'd  give  him  twenty  dollars 
for  that,  and  a  hundred  if  I  found  the  horse.  The 
end  of  the  business  was  that  I  didn't  take  the  mid- 
night for  the  city.  Instead,  I  put  him,  and  myself, 
on  the  overland  at  one  o'clock,  and  one  of  my 
animals  into  the  box-car,  because  she'd  carry  us  up 
country  faster  than  these  mountain  rats;  changed 
at  Reno  for  Beckwith,  and,  at  seven-thirty  this 
morning,  I  started  from  Beckwith  with  him  still 
pretty  well  under  the  influence. 

"It  didn't  occur  to  me  that  he  would  turn  tail  at 
the  last  moment.  People,  once  they  are  with  me  in 
a  thing,  usually  stick."  He  said  this  without  con- 
sciousness, merely  as  a  fact  which  he  had  seen  dem- 
onstrated, and  the  scholar  accepted  it  with  the 
naivete  equal  to  his  own.  "At  first  I  thought  it  was 
the  drink  dying  out  of  him,  but  there  was  some- 
thing more  in  his  behavior  than  that.  It  was  queer ! 
The  further  we  went,  the  more  we  got  up  into  the 

38 


RADER 

mountains,  the  sulkier  he  grew,  until  finally  he  de- 
nied up  and  down  everything  he  had  told  me,  ate 
his  words  like  a  sword  swallower,  and  when  we 
got  away  up  the  canon,  he  insisted  on  getting  out 
of  the  buggy  and  leaving  me.  Fortunately  I  hadn't 
paid  him  his  money  yet,  and  it  was  on  that  account 
I  got  the  two  words  I  did  get  out  of  him.  'Try 
Rader's,'  he  said  and  as  soon  as  he  had  said  it  you 
should  have  seen  his  face !  Scared — scared  to  death ! 
He  looked  as  if  he  wanted  to  kill  me." 

Rader  slowly  rubbed  one  dry  hand  over  the  other. 
He  looked  troubled,  even  vaguely  distressed.  "I'm 
sorry,"  he  murmured.  "I  thought  certainly  he  would 
never  have  spoken  of  it." 

Carron  wrinkled  his  forehead.  "I'm  sorry,  too, 
Mr.  Rader,  if  he  has  abused  your  confidence.  But 
you  see  the  horse  is  public  property.  It  never 
occurred  to  me  that  there  could  be  any  sworn  oaths 
of  secrecy  about  it." 

"Oh,  he  hasn't  abused  my  confidence,"  Rader 
said. 

"I  see!"  Carron  saw  at  once  a  great  deal  that 
had  been  obscure  to  him.  The  thing  seemed  an  end- 
less chain.  "I  suppose  you  know  whose  confidence 
he  is  abusing,  then  ?" 

Rader  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  his  head  still  bent 
forward,  looking  up  inquiringly  from  under  his 

39 


SON   OF   THE   .WIND 

brows.  "Before  I  go  any  further,  do  you  mind  if 
I  ask  you  a  question  or  two  ?" 

"As  many  as  you  like.    Go  ahead." 

"I  don't  know  much  about  horses,  very  little  more 
about  men ;  I  don't  know  that  either  have  ever  mat- 
tered much  to  me,  but  I  wish  that  I  could  under- 
stand, I  wonder  if  you  could  make  me,  why  you 
have  come  so  far,  and  taken  as  much  trouble  to  find 
a  single  horse  as  most  men  take  to  find  a  gold  mine?" 

This  time  it  was  Carron  who  was  surprised. 
"I've  gone  almost  as  far,  and  given  almost  as  much 
trouble  for  a  good  many  horses.  Why,  good  Lord, 
a  man  has  to  if  he  wants  to  get  them!" 

"But  why  want  to?  There  are  enough  horses  in 
the  world !" 

"Well — suppose  it  is  the  finest  horse  in  the 
world?" 

Rader's  high  eyebrows  went  higher  in  incredulity. 
"What,  with  Arabia,  and  our  own  thoroughbred 
stock?" 

"Of  course,  I  mean  the  finest  wild  horse.  That 
makes  all  the  difference !" 

"H'm — yes,"  Rader  agreed.  "I  can  see,  there  is 
something  in  that;  but  you  said  you  had  taken  as 
much  trouble  in  getting  other  horses !" 

Carron  knitted  his  forehead.  "I  don't  know  how 
to  explain  it — I've  always  done  it.  I  suppose  any- 

40 


"  Oh,  he  hasn't  abused  my  confidence,"  Rader  said 


RADER 

thing  you're  doing  all  the  time  gets  hold  of  you — * 
that  is,  if  you  like  it  well  enough.  You  get  to  think 
of  it  as  the  center  of  the  world." 

The  scholar's  eyes  brightened.  "Yes,  yes !  That's 
true — the  very  thing."  He  looked  at  the  books  be- 
hind him,  reached  out  and  touched  a  volume  as 
though  he  would  have  liked  to  speak  of  it ;  then  his 
eyes  returned  with  a  bright  and  almost  boy-like  in- 
terest to  his  companion.  "Do  I  understand  you  to 
mean  you  are  by  profession  a  catcher  and  breaker  of 
horses?" 

"Ever  since  I  was  thirteen,  though  I  haven't 
called  it  a  profession  until  the  last  five  years.  But 
I  know  more  about  it,  and  care  more  about  it,  and 
can  do  it  better  than  anything  else  in  the  world. 
Over  in  Nevada  they  know  my  name  pretty  well. 
I  hold  a  hundred  square  miles  that  are  mine  for 
five  years,  and  I  save  this  union  of  forsaken  states 
about  twenty  thousand  dollars  annually  in  the  crea- 
tures that  aren't  killed  getting  them  under  saddle." 

"You  mean  you  are  sort  of  an  official?"  The 
spark  of  Rader's  interest  dimmed. 

"Lord,  no!  I  only  mean  I  do  save  horseflesh, 
and  more  or  less  the  country  profits.  So  do  I,  a 
little,  but  not  much.  It's  more  the  fun  of  the  thing. 
You've  no  idea,  from  what  you  see  of  bridle-wise 
horses,  what  the  wild  ones  are  like.  You  know,  a 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

broken  horse  is  like  a  woman — nervous,  brain  in  a 
tea-cup,  shying  at  a  shadow.  But  these  fellows, 
the  herd  leaders,  are  tough  as  whip-cord,  smarter 
than  a  wolf  and  quicker  than  a  snake.  They'll  get 
away  from  you  through  a  crack  in  a  fence. 

"Last  spring  I  got  on  the  trail  of  a  stallion  that, 
I'll  take  my  oath,  was  a  good  deal  stronger,  cleverer 
and  faster  than  any  other  horse  in  the  world.  The 
Indians  said  he  was  sired  by  the  North  Wind.  A 
couple  of  them  claimed  to  have  seen  him,  and  their 
description  made  me  very  curious.  I  chased  him 
over  southern  Nevada,  saw  the  tail  of  the  herd  once 
or  twice,  but  never  the  leader.  But  we  kept  them 
edging  over  westward  until  about  the  last  week  of 
last  month,  a  hundred  miles  short  of  the  state  line,  I 
thought  I  had  him.  I  even  got  the  herd  into  the 
runway  and  stampeded  for  the  corral;  but  there 
must  have  been  a  weak  place  in  the  fence — I  don't 
know  now  how  it  happened!  I  should  have  said 
it  was  impossible;  but,  just  before  the  first  of  the 
corral  canvas,  the  leader  swerved  and  went  through 
the  stockade  as  if  it  had  been  paper.  His  mares 
were  going  too  fast  to  stop.  We  took  the  whole  of 
them,  and  he  got  off  alone."  Carron  moistened  his 
lips.  "I  saw  him.  He  went  close  by  me :  black,  not 
a  blemish,  star  on  his  forehead,  a  white  fleck  on  his 
breast,  left  foot  white  and  mane  like  a  flag.  To 

42 


RADER 

watch  him  take  the  rise  of  the  rolling  ground,  and 
clip  into  the  hollow,1  and  rise  again  was  like  watch- 
ing a  flying  bird.  I  saw  him,  and  I  named  him  on 
the  spot,  'Son  of  the  Wind,'  because  he  is  the  great- 
est, fastest,  loneliest  thing  that  travels  over  earth — 
and  he's  mine !" 

Leaning  back,  his  fingers  propping  his  chin,  Rader 
had  followed  the  recital  with  the  same  bright,  in- 
tense gaze  with  which  he  might  have  followed 
an  epic.  Now,  when  the  pause  came,  he  smiled 
and  brought  down  his  hand  lightly  on  the  arm  of 
his  chair.  "Diomedes!"  he  said.  His  eyes  rested 
on  the  young  man's  throat  left  bare  by  a  soft  collar, 
the  lithe  line  of  his  back,  his  hands  thrust  forward 
on  the  table,  the  sleeves  pushed  up  above  the  wrists, 
showing  the  breadth  and  sharp  lift  of  the  muscle, 
as  if  these  things  were  what  the  story  had  explained 
to  him. 

It  was  extraordinary  to  Carron  that  the  real  sig- 
nificance of  his  tale  had  gone  so  completely  over 
Rader's  head — or  perhaps  under  his  feet  "Don't 
you  see,"  he  explained,  "I  think  that  horse  and  this 
may  be  the  same." 

The  scholar  looked  suddenly  brought  down  to 
<  earth,  and,  as  always  when  there,  rather  at  a  loss. 

"Which  one?"  he  asked  blindly. 

"The  one  I  lost  in  Nevada  is  the  one  here  in  these 
43 


SON   OE   THE  ;WIND 

mountains.  I  lost  him  only  a  couple  of  hundred 
miles  from  here.  My  horse  was  separated  from  his 
herd,  so  is  this  one.  Then,  word  for  word,  the 
description  tallies.  At  least,  I  hope" — he  looked 
anxiously  at  Rader — "that  you  are  going  to  tell  me 
it  does." 

"I?  But,"  Rader  objected,  "I  have  never  seen 
such  a  thing!"  The  idea  of  it  seemed  almost  to 
frighten  him. 

Carron  looked  at  him  hard.  It  was  not  possible 
to  construe  those  deep-set,  clear,  blue  eyes  as  any- 
thing but  candid.  "But  you  know  some  one  who 
has?" 

Rader  was  silent. 

"One  thing,"  Carron  persisted.  "You  do  know 
for  a  fact  that  there  is  such  a  creature  ?" 

The  scholar  looked  down.  "Do  we,  any  of  us, 
know  for  a  fact  a  thing  we  have  never  seen  ?" 

The  blood  flew  to  Carron's  face.  He  felt  held 
back,  baffled,  played  with!  For  Rader's  manner, 
with  all  its  frank  simplicity,  was  not  the  manner  of 
ignorance.  "I  think  you  do  know  quite  well,"  Car- 
ron said,  "but  for  some  reason  you  prefer  not  to 
say." 

"For  a  good  reason,"  Rader  answered.  He 
leaned  his  head  back  against  his  chair,  and  plunged 
his  hands  in  his  capacious  pockets.  His  long,  gray 

44 


RADER 

face,  and  the  whole  figure  of  the  man,  shrunken  by 
reading,  seemed  slowly  expanding,  thawing  them- 
selves at  some  genial  glow.  "In  the  first  place,  it  is 
not  my  business.  In  the  second  place,  I  have  no  in- 
terest in  it,  except,  I  confess,  what  you've  given  me." 
Again  his  eye  went  over  Carron's  physical  mag- 
nificence. "I  own  I  wouldn't  mind  to  see  you 
astride  of  the  finest  horse  in  America,  or — pardon 
me — did  you  say  the  world?  Unfortunately  I 
can't." 

The  half  interrogatory,  half  propitiatory  look 
with  which  he  punctuated  his  negatives  took  away 
all  the  sting.  But  the  negative,  nevertheless,  was 
there. 

"Couldn't  you,"  Carron  urged,  "tell  me  the  name 
of  this  person  who  seems  to  hold  a  property  right 
on  a  wild  animal  ?" 

"As  the  fellow  on  the  road  told  you?"  Rader  in- 
quired. 

Carron,  with  a  reluctant  smile,  had  to  admit  the 
scholar's  acuteness. 

"But  don't  you  think,"  he  argued,  "that  you  ought 
to  give  your  friend  the  chance  of  refusing  my  offer 
himself,  or  accepting  it  if  he  wants  to?" 

Rader  shook,  and  his  eyes  flashed  a  thousand 
twinkles.  "That  is  a  pretty  keen  argument,  my  boy, 
but  it  seems  to  me  you're  taking  a  deal  for  granted !" 

45 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

He-  undoubted  his  length  from  his  old  chair.  "Sup- 
pose we  drop  my  hypothetical  friend,  and  talk  about 
yourself."  He  stood,  with  his  long  legs  straddled, 
looking  down  upon  Carron,  who  sat  at  sharp  strug- 
gle with  his  temper,  exasperation  and  disappoint- 
ment descending  on  him  at  once.  "Suppose  you 
stay  over  a  few  days,  get  a  rest  and  look  around. 
Perhaps  you  can  get  a  little  shooting,"  Rader  sug- 
gested. 

Carron  grinned  in  spite  of  himself  to  hear  his 
own  fabrication  come  back  upon  him  like  a  boomer- 
ang. "Thanks,"  he  said  dryly,  "I  only  bargained 
with  Mrs.  Rader  to  stop  overnight." 

"Well,  bargain  with  me  then." 

"I  have,"  said  Carron.  "No  use!" 

They  looked  at  each  other  appreciatively.  Rader 
reached  a  hand  and  patted  Carron's  shoulder.  "Stay 
over  a  few  days — stay  over!"  he  said  almost  gaily. 
"It  may  interest  you  to  look  around  the  place!  No 
knowing  what  may  turn  up !" 

Carron  raised  his  eyes  quickly.  Rader's  manner 
was  significant.  His  face  did  not  hold  a  double 
(meaning;  'twas  rather  as  if  the  inspiration  behind 
had  been  unconscious. 

"If  I  do,"  Carron  said,  "will  you  go  hunting  with 
me?" 

Rader  looked  down  at  himself.  "I  haven't  been 
46 


RADER 

hunting  since  I  left  college.  But  we'll  find  some  one 
to  go  with  you,  certainly  we'll  find  some  one." 

It  may  have  been  a  banality,  but  to  Carron's  con- 
scious ears  it  rang  like  a  promise.  "Thank  you,"  he 
said.  "I  shall  be  delighted."  He  rose.  "It's  been 
mighty  good  of  you  to  listen  to  me.  I've  taken  a  lot 
of  your  time." 

"Have  you?"  said  Rader.  "I  never  know  what 
time  it  is." 

Carron  looked  at  his  watch.  "Just  ten  after 
eleven.  See  here,  if  I'm  going  to  stay  over  for  a 
week  I'll  have  to  send  a  wire.  Is  there  any  way  of 
getting  one  out  to-morrow?" 

Rader  thought.  "There's  the  stage,  gets  down  to 
Beckwith  about  noon,  passes  here  at  six-thirty.  If 
you'll  write  out  your  message  to-night,  I'll  have 
some  one  meet  them  with  it  in  the  morning." 

"Some  one  that  you  can  depend  on?" 

"Oh,  no  doubt !"  Rader  said. 

The  pen  was  already  in  Carron's  hand.  He  made 
a  clear  space  among  the  papers  on  the  table  and 
wrote.  The  words  presented  to  the  casual  eye  would 
have  been  unintelligible,  but  the  inner  meaning  of 
the  code  was  clear,  and  to  the  point  enough : 

"Ship  stakes,  canvas  and  small  stuff  to-day  for 
Beckwith.  No  delay.  F.  C" 

47 


'  SON   OF   THE   WIND 

As  He  signed  these  initials  a  gentle  knock  came  on 
the  door  and  a  low  voice  spoke —  "Alex,  here's  your 
candle.  I  suppose  you  will  sit  up.  I'm  going  to  bed." 

The  scholar  glanced  at  Carron.  "I'd  better  tell 
her,"  he  murmured.  He  opened  the  door.  "Her- 
mione !"  he  called.  The  flowery  sound — name  of  an 
ideal  woman  in  a  tale — struck  quaintly  on  Car- 
ron's  ears. 

Mrs.  Rader  was  already  half-way  down  the  pass- 
age. She  paused,  looking  back,  lamp  in  hand,  while 
Rader  walked  toward  her.  From  the  threshold  of 
the  study  Carron  could  see  them  conferring  there  in 
the  flickering  light  and  shadow.  There  was  some- 
thing charming,  winning  in  the  scholar,  in  the  very 
slouch  of  his  figure,  with  its  loose-hanging  clothes; 
something  pathetic  and  appealing  in  the  woman's 
face,  tired  now  at  the  end  of  her  day's  work,  and  in 
her  brown  dubious-glancing  eyes.  They  had  been 
looking  up  toward  her  husband;  but  suddenly  she 
turned  them  toward  Carron  with  a  furtive,  half- 
frightened  look — not  one  she  had  meant  him  to  see ; 
an  involuntary  look  that  had  got  away  from  her. 

It  disturbed  him,  that  any  woman  should  regard 
him  in  that  way.  He  had  a  hasty  impulse  to  reas- 
sure her  that  there  was  nothing  in  his  presence  that 
need  alarm  her.  The  look  was  withdrawn  almost 
before  he  could  take  it  in,  but  the  impression  of  it 

48 


RADER 

remained  with  him.  "She  doesn't  want  me  to  stay, 
does  she?"  he  inquired  after  the  woman  had  re- 
treated, and  the  study  door  was  shut.  "Bless  my 
soul,"  the  scholar  had  declared,  "why  not?  Of 
course,  she's  delighted !" 

Carron  accepted  the  courteous  rebuke,  but  kept 
his  first  opinion  on  the  subject.  He  liked  Mrs.  Ra- 
der ;  he  liked  being  liked  for  its  own  sake,  and  that 
air  she  had  of  suspecting  him  touched  his  vanity. 

She,  whom  he  had  thought  no  problem  at  all  in 
the  beginning,  was  evidently  not  confiding.  It  was 
the  man,  the  shy,  self-absorbed  scholar,  who  had  so 
readily  given  his  allegiance. 

Unconscious  partisan  Rader  was!  He  warmed 
himself  at  Carron's  vitality  as  at  a  fire.  Stretching 
out  his  long  legs  beneath  the  table,  lounging  on  his 
background  of  books,  "How  about  some  sherry?"  he 
proposed.  "I  expect  to  be  up  for  a  couple  of  hours 
more." 

Carron  had  not  realized  how  strongly  his  story, 
or  himself,  or  both  together,  had  touched  the  schol- 
ar's fancy  until,  after  the  interruption  at  an  ad- 
vanced hour,  he  showed  an  inclination  to  resume 
their  companionship.  He  had  pushed  aside  his 
solitary  self-evolved  thoughts  for  the  talk  of  the 
horse-breaker  just  as  he  had  put  aside  his  Greek 
book  to  make  room  for  the  glasses.  Still  from  a 

49 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

distance,  still  with  detachment,  he  questioned  his 
companion.  He  asked  first  what  university,  as  if 
for  a  sign  of  freemasonry.  Carron  confessed  to 
not  graduating  from  Harvard.  The  idea  of  not 
graduating,  of  voluntarily  leaving  such  institution, 
was  difficult  for  Rader  to  understand.  What  col- 
lege had  been  his  own,  and  what  honors  there,  he 
did  not  volunteer — one  of  the  obscure,  austere 
New  England  institutions  no  doubt — but  it  made  no 
difference  about  the  college.  The  universal  stamp 
was  on  him  of  the  man  of  the  world  of  books. 
Not  scientist,  not  psychist,  not  a  student  of  any 
practical  knowledge,  but  reader  of  histories  in  dead 
languages,  dreamer  over  poetry  in  archaic  forms, 
pursuer  of  the  derivations  of  words  through  vol- 
umes ;  to  whom  Herodotus  was  as  recent  as  Guizot, 
and  both  contemporary  with  himself;  to  whom  the 
Bucolics  were  more  real  than  the  boys  driving  cattle 
down  the  canon  valley. 

In  such  company  as  this,  book  company,  he  sat, 
lived;  and,  from  such  a  world  he  looked  distantly 
at  the  young  man  as  at  a  symbol  of  the  other  outside 
active  world.  It  was  of  this  other  world  only  that 
he  inquired;  and  Carron  put  aside  the  questions 
that  were  foremost  in  his  own  mind,  and  sur- 
rendered himself  to  satisfying  the  awakened  cur- 
iosity. 

50 


RADER 

His  adventures,  drifting  in  the  north  and  south 
of  the  large  west,  his  present  profession — the  ex- 
citements and  the  dangers  of  it — the  look  of  the 
country  there  as  if  hell  had  blasted  it,  and  the 
rough  life  in  it,  he  told  them  all.  The  rougher  the 
more  it  semed  to  strike  Rader's  imagination.  He 
had  a  curious  faculty  of  seeing  resemblances  in 
real  things,  men,  horses  and  mountains,  to  frescoes, 
bas-reliefs  and  palaces ;  he  had,  too,  a  disconcerting 
way  of  breaking  into  a  narrative  with:  "Tell  me, 
what  is  it  in  a  man  that  makes  him  do  a  thing 
like  that?" 

The  horse-breaker  had  never  interrogated  himself 
in  such  fashion,  though  he  had  seen,  far  and  wide, 
the  curious,  unaccountable  things  that  men  will  do. 
He  could  not  answer  Rader,  though  the  scholar 
made  a  dozen  suppositions  for  himself  upon  each 
point,  some  glancing  at  what  might  have  been  the 
truth,  some  wide  the  possibility.  He  could  only  tell 
still  more  things  to  be  wondered  at,  and  he  perceived 
the  more  he  told,  the  more  he  gave  of  himself,  the 
more  response  he  had  from  his  companion.  He  was 
beginning  to  understand  that  he  was  in  Rader's 
hands  like  a  new  book.  His  interest  for  the  scholar 
was  not  on  what  common  ground  they  could  meet, 
but  into  what  fresh  fields  Carron  could  lead  him. 
He  had  led  him  a  long  way  to-night. 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

It  was  late,  one  o'clock,  when  they  parted.  Car- 
ron's  brain  boiled  with  the  excitements  of  thirty- 
six  hours.  Its  fatigues  rested  on  him  not  a  feather. 
He  found  his  room  dark  and  warm.  The  fire  had 
fallen  to  a  red  spark.  Soft  branches  moved  against 
the  window  screens.  He  set  his  candle  down  on 
the  table,  and  wondered  how  much  there  was  in 
Rader's  promisings.  "Wonderful  old  boy!"  he 
thought.  "A  man  might  believe  he  was  deep  in  the 
business,  but  I've  half  a  notion  he  is  only  what  he 
claims,  an  honorary  member  of  the  secret,  with  a 
practical  sense  of  honor — only  practical  thing  about 
him!"  It  was  practical  indeed,  for  it  hadn't  pre- 
vented Rader's  inviting  him  to  stay,  to  stay  longer 
and  see  what  would  turn  up.  It  hadn't  even  pre- 
vented Rader's  throwing  in  his  way  a  hunting  com- 
panion, a  person  nameless,  but  somehow  it  had 
entered  Carron's  head  that  it  was  a  person  of  im- 
portance in  his  affairs.  The  thing  had  only  been 
suggested.  It  had  all  been  done  in  a  tone  unaware 
of  its  own  significance,  and  it  was  that  which  had 
made  the  significance  so  great. 

Faint  sounds  outside  caught  his  ear,  neither  the 
shrill  crickets  nor  the  broad,  soft  sound  of  the 
awakening  wind,  but  more  regular,  muffled  and 
mechanical.  He  puffed  out  his  light  and  went, 
cautious- footed,  to  the  window.  It  was  the  window 

52 


RADER 

looking  from  the  front  of  the  wing,  commanding 
the  loop  of  the  drive  and  the  steps.  Some  one 
was  standing  just  within  the  hood  of  the  porch,  for 
from  the  entrance  streamed  a  narrow  shaft  of 
light,  shining  with  the  peculiar  floating,  wavering 
gleam  which  is  only  given  by  a  light  held  in  the 
hands.  From  the  beat  of  hoofs  and  the  scarcely 
perceptible  sound  of  wheels  it  was  a  single  rig  that 
was  approaching.  The  light  shone  presently  on  the 
horse's  head,  flashed  in  his  eyes,  slipped  along  his 
flank  as  he  swung  around,  and  finally  stopped  as  the 
buggy  stopped,  resting  upon  the  back  part  of  the 
wagon  body,  leaving  the  hollow  between  the  dash- 
board and  the  hood  in  black  shadow. 

"You  are  earlier  than  I  used  to  be,  Bert,"  Rader's 
voice  spoke  from  the  veranda.  Beside  his  clear, 
singing  tone  the  replying  voice  was  slovenly  in 
enunciation,  and  muffled,  but  Carron  heard  enough 
to  get  its  timber  and  quality,  and  his  heart  quickened 
as  the  idea  shot  through  his  mind.  Was  this  the 
person,  that  mysterious  third  person  who  had  tied 
Rader's  tongue  and  put  the  man  on  the  road  so 
much  in  awe?  A  young  man!  Not  Rader's  con- 
temporary, but  his  own.  Carron  saw  the  difficulty 
doubled.  It  would  make  the  stallion  harder  to  come 
at  than  buried  treasure.  He  pressed  his  face  to  the 
glass  and  peered  down.  A  vague  form,  dark  on 

53 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

darkness,  was  mounting  up  the  steps,  slowly,  as  if 
encumbered  with  a  cloak.  Rader  had  moved  for- 
ward. Carron  could  see  his.  bent  head  and  his  ex- 
tended hand.  A  hand  was  reached  out  of  the 
shadow,  and,  for  a  moment,  in  the  narrow  beam  of 
light  appeared  an  arm,  long,  bare  almost  to  the 
shoulder,  and  so  shapely,  so  suggestive  of  dimples, 
and,  against  the  black  shadows  around  it,  so  white 
that  for  an  instant  thought  deserted  him.  An  arm, 
without  a  clear  seen  body,  suddenly  thrust  upon  him 
from  darkness — a  woman's  arm  where  he  had  ex- 
pected a  man's  face!  "What  in  the  world!"  Carron 
muttered  softly,  holding  his  breath  with  doubt  of 
what  was  to  follow.  "What  the  devil!"  he  ended. 
For  Rader  suddenly  raised  the  lamp,  the  arm  dis- 
appeared in  a  fold  of  darkness,  the  whole  form,  still 
unseen,  passed  and  disappeared  under  the  piazza 
roof,  and  Carron's  eyes,  following  down  the  beam 
of  light,  discovered  at  the  end  of  it  the  figure  of  a 
man  standing  upon  the  lowest  step  looking  up  at 
Rader,  the  unexpected  and  rather  amazing  sight  of 
"the  man  on  the  road." 


54 


CHAPTER  III 

BLANCHE 

HE  WAS  awakened  in  the  morning  by  the 
sound  of  young  things  scuttering.  A  race 
was  forward  in  the  hall — first  the  panting  and  pat- 
ter-patter and  scratch  of  some  small  animal  in  full 
career ;  a  shower  of  light  quick  footsteps  following, 
the  sound  of  a  body  in  soft  collision  with  his  door, 
and  then,  the  voice. 

"No,  no,  Beetles,  give  it  to  me — give  it  to  me 
this  instant!"  A  young  school-mistress  controlling 
her  youngest  scholar  could  not  have  been  more 
severe.  "There's  no  use  hiding  under  my  petticoat ; 
hold  your  head  up.  Now — "  dropping  to  an  en- 
couraging tone —  "open  your  mouth,  and  give  it  to 
Missus;"  falling  to  a  dulcet  note  that  would  have 
wiled  an  image —  "no,  little  dog  mustn't  eat  it.  It's 
hard  and  cold  and  bad  for  his  inside;"  suddenly 
rising  to  the  pitch  of  Napoleon  commanding  his 
army —  "Do  you  hear !  Beetles!" 

Evidently  there  was  a  tussle.  He  guessed  the  child 
was  on  her  knees.  The  door  vibrated  slightly  with 

55 


the  struggling  bodies.  Carron  heard  squeaks  and 
whimpers  of  a  puppy  in  high  excitement,  and  then 
a  whimper  of  quite  a  different  origin. 

"Ugh !  you  little  beast !  You  would,  would  you !" 
Between  set  teeth,  "Just  the  same,  I'm  going  to — 
there !"  The  last  word  was  pitched  to  virtue  trium- 
phant; but  the  puppy's  indignant  yelp  was  higher 
yet,  the  resentment  of  frustrated  will. 

The  jar  of  a  door  opening  farther  down  the  hall 
was  audible,  and  a  second  voice,  raised  to  cover  the 
distance,  suppressed  with  the  fear  of  being  over- 
heard and  thus  giving  a  double  carrying  quality, 
reached  him  as  distinctly  as  if  it  had  been  spoken 
through  the  keyhole.  "Blanche,  what  in  the  world 
are  you  doing  there?" 

The  reply  came  clear  and  cheerful.  "Taking 
something  away  from  Beetles.  I  was  afraid  he 
would  eat  it." 

"Well,  get  up  this  moment,  and  come  away." 
Carron  felt  himself  pierced  by  the  stage  whisper. 
"Don't  you  know  that  man  is  in  that  room !" 

There  was  a  rustle  and  a  hasty  scrambling  up,  as 
if  the  door  had  suddenly  become  contaminated.  At 
the  same  time  a  hurrying  step  approached  down  the 
hall.  The  two  petticoated  sounds  merged  almost  in 
front  of  his  door,  and  he  found  himself  a  not  un- 
willing listener  to  the  duet  that  followed. 

56 


BLANCHE 

"I  thought  he  was  in  the  regular  spare  room. 
Why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 

"I  haven't  had  a  chance  to.  I  didn't  know  you 
were  back.  There,  I  hope  you  haven't  waked  him 
up!" 

"I  hope  I  have.    What  is  he  like  ?" 

Mrs.  Rader's  reply  was  inaudible. 

"Oh,  mother,  I  don't  believe  it !  Is  he  good  look- 
ing?" 

"Sh-h-h!" 

Carron  sat  up  and  smiled.  It  was  like  being 
awakened  by  a  bird  singing — it  was  better,  for  a 
bird  would  have  cared  not  a  feather  about  a  man's 
looks.  The  bright  mettlesome  voice  touched  pleas- 
antly on  his  nerves.  "The  precocious  thing,"  he 
thought.  "How  old  is  she?" 

Tussling  with  the  dog  on  the  floor  he  had  put 
her  age  at  thirteen,  but  her  last  sentences  made  him 
clap  on  three  years  more.  "I  wonder  why  I  didn't 
see  her  last  night  at  supper,"  he  thought,  as  the 
voices  and  footsteps  moved  away  along  the  hall. 
"I  wonder — "  he  mused  longer,  and  seemed  less 
pleased  with  his  next  reflection.  "I  wonder  how 
many  of  them  there  are  around  the  place." 

This  thought  had  been  summoned  by  the  memory 
of  last  night,  and  the  apparition  of  an  arm  thrust 
upon  him  out  of  darkness.  That  had  not  been  the 

57 


SON   OF   THE  WIND 

arm  of  a  child,  youthful  though  it  was.  It  Had  been 
a  thing  of  long  curves  and  of  a  well  covered  turn  of 
elbow;  an  arm  that  had  found  its  power,  conceal- 
ing it  cunningly  in  dimples;  no  doubt,  Carron 
thought,  an  arm  to  strangle  reason.  It  had  risen  as 
magically  before  him  as  ever  the  arm  of  the  Lady 
of  the  Lake  had  risen  to  the  king  in  the  legend.  The 
same  feeling  of  irritation  stirred  in  him  that  had 
crept  in  his  veins  the  night  before  when  it  had  ap- 
peared before  him  as  the  thing  he  had  not  expected, 
and  certainly  the  last  thing  he  had  wanted.  He  was 
not  in  the  least  averse  to  the  idea  of  a  child  about 
the  place.  Children,  even  half-grown  girls,  are 
pleasant  companions  and  content  with  little  atten- 
tion ;  but  a  young  woman  might  be  very  much  in  the 
way.  Women  could  always  be  depended  on  to  turn 
up  at  the  wrong  moment  when  a  man  was  interested 
in  something  else,  had  to  get  through  in  a  hurry,  and 
wanted  a  clear  gangway. 

A  clear  gangway  in  this  business  was  what  he 
had  not,  thus  far,  been  able  to  find.  Not  an  opening 
but  had  ended  in  a  cul-de-sac;  not  a  person  he 
wanted  but,  just  as  he  thought  his  finger  was  upon 
them,  turned  out  to  be  some  other  person.  He 
hardly  thought  he  could  blame  Rader  for  this.  In 
the  disappointment  of  last  night  his  own  over-eager 
imagination  had  led  him  astray;  and  certainly  he 

58 


BLANCHE 

couldn't  blame  the  girl — she  of  the  arm— but  he 
must  make  sure  she  did  not  happen  again  as  a  sub- 
stitute for  something  else  that  he  wanted.  Yet  in 
spite  of  false  appearances,  in  spite  of  a  too-lively 
fancy,  he  saw  he  was  a  long  stride  nearer  what  he 
was  after  than  he  had  been  twenty-four  hours  ago. 
If  only  he  could  keep  a  cool  head,  and  keep  the 
ground  he  had  gained  with  the  scholar  last  night  he 
thought  that  Rader's  hypothetical  friend  would  pres- 
ently be  his  own.  Of  course  there  was  the  chance  al- 
ways that  the  man  on  the  road  might  play  turncoat, 
and  put  the  scholar's  friend  on  his  guard.  To  find 
this  fellow,  this  first  informer,  apparently  such  a  fa- 
miliar here  among  the  Raders,  was  disconcerting. 
He  was  called  by  his  first  name.  It  might  be  that  he 
was  engaged  to  the  young  woman  whom  he  had 
brought  back  last  night.  Carron  discarded  his  last 
idea  promptly,  since  as  much  as  he  had  seen  of  her 
was  far  too  fine  to  belong  to  such  a  clod. 

He  decided  to  abandon  vain  suppositions  about 
people  who  were  of  small  importance  to  him,  and 
hurried  his  dressing.  The  thought  of  how  the 
mare  had  spent  the  night  after  her  hard  yesterday's 
trip  was  an  anxiety  in  his  mind,  and  presently  sent 
him  swinging,  two  steps  at  a  time,  down  the  out- 
side stair  and  toward  the  barn. 

Voices  of  birds  were  in  the  air,  and  a  pale  em- 

59 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

broidery  of  light  and  shadow  was  drawn  across  the 
ground.  The  chestnut  greeted  him  coquettishly.  Car- 
ron  looked  at  her  stall  and  manger,  glanced  over  her 
own  admirable  appearance,  whistled  with  sur- 
prise, told  her  she  was  a  handsome  girl  with  four 
good  feet  and  asked  her  who  had  been  looking  out 
for  her  so  early  in  the  morning.  "It  couldn't  have 
been  that  child,"  he  thought.  Still,  with  the  help  of 
a  bucket  upside  down,  a  well-grown  girl,  of  say 
fifteen,  might  manage  the  grooming,  though  hardly 
the  stalls.  "If  she  did,"  he  reflected,  "she  knows 
how.  She's  earned  some  candy."  He  rather 
thought  he  was  going  to  like  the  younger  Miss 
Rader.  As  for  the  elder,  who  went  to  country 
dances,  and  was  squired  by  the  man  on  the  road, 
probably  she  would  share  her  mother's  opinion,  and 
hold  a  doubtful  distance.  Nevertheless,  as  he  ap- 
proached the  house  again  he  looked  along  the 
piazza  to  see  if  anywhere  there  was  the  flutter  of  a 
gown;  and  he  opened  the  dining-room  door  with  a 
slight  disturbance  of  the  nerves. 

It  was  a  small,  rather  long  and  narrow  room, 
with  worn  walls  and  a  terrible  fireplace  of  cast 
iron,  but  it  was  filled  with  the  same  pleasant,  green- 
ish, watery  sunlight  that  had  lighted  his  room  up- 
stairs, a  tone  which  seemed  common  to  the  whole 
house.  The  only  people  at  table  were  Mrs.  Rader. 

60 


BLANCHE 

and  the  scholar,  but,  again,  there  was  a  place  set 
which  was  as  yet  unoccupied.  Evidently  in  this 
castle  of  surprises  the  expected  presence  was  always 
lacking.  Rader  had  an  open  book  beside  him  and 
read  more  than  he  ate.  When  he  turned  his  head 
for  a  sip  or  for  a  bite,  he  kept  his  fingers  between 
the  leaves.  He  did  not  seem  to  be  aware  of 
the  young  man's  entrance.  It  was  Mrs.  Rader's 
hand  that  touched  him  to  a  consciousness  of  it.  Then 
he  raised  his  eyes,  smiled  dimly,  as  with  a  notion 
of  having  seen  Carron  somewhere  at  some  time, 
perhaps  some  years  ago,  and  promptly  returned  to 
the  pages  of  his  book. 

But  Mrs.  Rader  accompanied  her  good  morning 
with  a  look  sufficiently  aware  of  him,  and  sufficiently 
propitiatory  for  two.  She  had  gone  to  call  him 
to  breakfast,  she  said,  but  as  he  had  not  answered 
she  had  supposed  him  still  asleep.  There  was  a 
faint  embarrassment  in  her  manner  as  she  added, 
"I  hope  you  rested  well,  that  nothing  disturbed  you 
this  morning?" 

Carron  guessed  what  was  disturbing  the  good 
lady's  sense  of  the  decorous — that  informal  little 
scene  outside  his  door  a  half  hour  earlier — and 
hastened  to  reassure  her.  "Never  slept  better  in  my 
life.  I  would  have  been  asleep  yet  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  a  brutal  bluejay  in  a  tree  outside  my  window." 

61 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

Mrs.  Rader  looked  relieved.  "It  must  have  been 
a  hawk,"  she  observed.  "Bluejays  don't  come  up 
this  far." 

A  door  somewhere  outside  shut  vigorously.  Rader 
did  not  change  his  attitude,  but  it  was  evident  he 
had  suspended  reading.  "There  she  is,"  he  said. 

"I  wonder  if  she  caught  it,"  Mrs.  Rader  threw 
out.  But  to  the  scholar  the  interesting  point  evi- 
dently was  not  what  the  one  approaching  had  caught, 
but  that  she  would  presently  appear. 

Carron  wondered  would  it  be  "Blanche"  or  would 
it  be  "The  Lady  of  the  Lake?"  Apparently  it  was 
a  third  person,  neither  child  nor  enchantress. 

A  longish  oval  face  she  had,  long  thick  throat 
and  sloping  shoulders.  She  gave  an  impression  of 
length  of  line  without  being  tall,  of  brownness  with- 
out being  brown,  of  being  but  a  slim  reed  and  yet 
being  fully  a  woman,  of  smiling  and  not  smiling. 
A  khaki  skirt  swung  from  her  slender  hips.  Low 
shoes — spurs  stuck  on  the  heels — gave  glimpses  of 
slender  ankles.  Hat  she  had  not;  and  her  brown 
hair,  Housed  out  in  small  wavy  locks  around  the 
ears,  was  put  up  recklessly  with  indications  of  the 
ends  of  curls.  A  mongrel  terrier  with  bright  eyes 
slouched  at  her  heels.  In  the  first  look  she  gave 
Carron  an  elf  seemed  to  peep  out  of  her  eyes. 
Amusement,  curiosity,  some  small  elation  too  in- 

62 


BLANCHE 

definite  to  name,  was  darted  at  him  and  withdrawn. 
She  did  not  offer  her  hand,  but  bent  her  head  quite 
in  the  manner  of  the  city  girl  to  acknowledge  her 
mother's  introduction.  This  consisted  only  of  two 
words:  "My  daughter,"  and  left  Carron  as  unin- 
formed as  before. 

"Father,  I  got  the  stage,"  she  said,  sitting  down  in 
the  place  beside  Carron. 

The  scholar,  who  had  continued  his  book  without 
having  looked  at  his  daughter,  now  paused  again, 
his  eyes  still  glued  to  the  page.  "U-m-m  ?"  he  said. 

"I  was  early  for  it,"  she  went  on.  "I  rode  down 
as  far  as  'the  notch'  before  I  met  it." 

Carron  looked  at  her  with  anxiety.  "Miss  Rader, 
I  hope  it  wasn't  my  letter  that  you  have  been  taking 
trouble  about?" 

She  stretched  a  long  throat  with  a  quick  inquiring 
turn  of  the  head  at  him.  "Yes — why  not  ?" 

"Of  course  I  would  have  taken  it  myself.  From 
what  Mr.  Rader  said,  I  supposed  he  had  a  boy  he 
could  send." 

"Oh,  George !  But  with  errands  you  can't  be  sure 
of  him.  It  was  nothing  of  a  ride.  I  liked  it." 

"I'm  very  much  in  your  debt,"  Carron  gratefully 
declared  himself.  "It  was  an  important  letter.  I 
promise  to  run  all  your  errands  for  you  as  long  as 
I  am  here." 

63 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

She  smiled,  her  lips  not  unclosing,  only  deepening 
their  curve.  Evidently  this  sort  of  speech  she  under- 
stood in  the  spirit  in  which  it  was  offered,  a  courtesy 
and  not  a  compliment.  "I  hope  the  rain  will  hold 
off  while  you  are  here,"  she  said.  "The  sport  is 
better  before  it.  .There's  more  game  in  the  moun- 
tains." 

Carron  thought  that  as  far  as  he  was  concerned 
there  would  be  indeed.  "Do  you  hunt?"  he  inquired. 

A  faint  line  gathered  between  her  brows.  "Oh, 
no,  I  don't,  and  I  don't  really  know  much  about 
what  weathers  are  good  for  it ;  only  all  the  men  say 
it's  better  before  wet  weather.  This  morning 
Beetles  started  six  covey  of  quail  in  a  mile."  She 
broke  a  crust  of  toast  and  held  it  up  before  the 
anxious  eyes  of  the  terrier.  "Beetles,  little  dog,  sit 
up !  Sit  up  for  Missus !  Beg  nicely !" 

The  sudden  change  of  voice  from  courtesy  to 
coaxing  made  Carron  open  his  eyes.  Was  this 
she  who  had  awakened  him — she  of  the  flying  heels  ? 
Was  this  the  one  who  had  nestled  against  his  door, 
who  had  demanded  to  know  whether  he  was  good- 
looking?  Since  she  had  entered  the  room  she  had 
not  given  his  looks  a  conscious  glance,  and  yet  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  intonation  of  the  voice.  "Good 
Lord !"  he  thought,  with  a  sort  of  awe,  "are  women 
such  children  when  they  are  alone?"  Nothing  child- 

64 


BLANCHE 

ish  about  her  now — if  a  man  could  believe  his  sight. 
Her  large  blue  eyes  and  the  curl  of  her  mouth  were 
enough  like  a  child's,  but  it  is  not  in  such  things  that 
a  woman's  maturity  speaks,  Carron  knew,  but  in  the 
proud  carriage  of  shoulders,  the  level  turn  of  head, 
the  steady  way  of  meeting  a  man's  eye,  and  their 
way  of  meeting  what  he  says,  not  as  if  he  were  an 
antagonist,  but  as  if  he  were  a  human  being. 

Thus  Blanche  Rader  began  setting  herself  very 
prettily  to  find  out  what  sort  of  talk  he  preferred; 
and  he  allowed  himself  the  luxury  of  being  drawn 
out,  and  being  "difficult"  merely  for  the  pleasure  of 
watching  her  graceful  faculty  at  work.  She  had 
undertaken  the  task  not  impersonally — he  doubted 
that  she  was  capable  of  being  quite  impersonal  with 
any  one — yet  rather  with  the  air  of  its  being  the 
thing  expected  of  her,  the  thing  she  always  did, 
pleasant  enough  in  this  case,  in  any  case  her  part  of 
the  business. 

But  Mrs.  Rader,  who  should  have  found  herself 
relieved  by  her  daughter's  aptitude,  showed  restless- 
ness. Her  hands  moved  without  intention  among 
the  coffee  cups.  Once  or  twice  her  lips  parted.  She 
made  false  starts  to  get  into  the  conversation. 
Finally,  a  pause  giving  opportunity,  she  leaned  for- 
ward and  got  her  daughter's  eye. 

65 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

"Did  you  have  a  good  time  last  night  ?"  she  asked. 
She  almost  faltered  it. 

"Yes,  very  good  indeed.  There  were  some  new 
people  there.  I  danced  with  them  mostly." 

"I  thought  you  would  dance  mostly  with  Bert," 
said  her  mother. 

The  girl  looked  as  if  she  suspected  intention  in 
this  remark,  and  resented  it.  "He  didn't  dance  at  all. 
He  wasn't  there  a  good  part  of  the  time.  He  only 
came  back  to  drive  me  home." 

Her  right  arm  rested  on  the  table.  The  hand  was 
tanned  to  a  soft  brown,  very  smooth  and  fine  in  tex- 
ture, with  five  dimples,  where  most  women  show 
knuckles,  and  round  finger-tips.  Carron  could  see 
the  wrist  white  and  punctuated  with  a  dimple.  The 
rest  was  hidden  in  a  starched  sleeve.  Still,  he  knew 
it  must  be  the  arm  enchanted. 

The  owner  of  it,  unaware  of  what  had  been  his 
last  night's  vision,  ate  for  a  few  moments  before 
offering  her  next  remark.  "I  think  Bert  was  feel- 
ing ill.  He  wasn't  like  himself."  She  fixed  a  chal- 
lenging gaze  on  her  mother's  face.  "Sometimes  I 
am  afraid  that  Bert  isn't  quite  steady." 

Mrs.  Rader's  lips  opened  for  reply,  but  she 
checked  herself,  no  doubt  because  of  the  stranger. 
A  current  of  hostility  was  in  the  air.  The  scholar 
raised  his  eyes.  His  look  had  no  connection  with 

66 


BLANCHE 

what  had  been  said.  No  voice  outside  had  pene- 
trated to  that  seclusion  where  his  mind  dreamed. 
He  had  simply  come  to  the  end  of  a  phrase  of 
thought,  and  now  was  preparing  to  make  a  transi- 
tion to  another.  He  gave  his  chair  a  gentle  scrape 
backward  and  closed  his  book.  What  arrested  him 
was  the  sharpness  of  Carron's  involuntary  move- 
ment forward.  Rader  mildly  surveyed  the  young 
man's  aspect  of  protest  against  thus  being  cavalierly 
deserted  without  apology  and  without  a  word.  Per- 
ception struggled  around  to  the  fact  that  something 
was  expected  of  him,  something  that  he  had  prom- 
ised. He  looked  at  his  daughter.  His  eyes  rested 
upon  her  with  something  as  human  as  affection. 
"Are  you  going  to  do  anything  in  particular  this 
morning,  Blanche?"  he  asked. 

"I'm  going  to  help  mother  with  the  up-stairs 
cleaning." 

"Oh !"    He  seemed  to  suffer  a  drop  of  inspira- 
tion. 

She  looked  inquiringly.    "What  is  it  ?" 

"Mr.  Carron,"  Rader  explained  slowly,  "would 
like  to  see  the  country  a  little.  I  was  thinking  per- 
haps you  might  show  him  around." 

"I'm  so  sorry — "  she  turned  apologetic  to  the 
young  man.  "But,  perhaps  I  can  this  afternoon  if 
you  would  care  to?" 

67 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

'Carron  was  angry.  Was  this  Radar's  idea  of 
[fulfilling  his  hints?  Was  this  his  idea  of  a  com- 
panion for  hunting?  Charming  young  women  with 
arms  reaching  out  of  oblivion  like  the  fabled  Lady 
of  the  Lake  were  all  very  well,  but  time  was  slipping 
by  and  he  must  be  about  a  man's  business.  Yet, 
what  to  do,  when  apparently  he  had  all  time  on  his 
hands,  and  the  girl  was  offering  him  her  time  so 
graciously?  It  was  Mrs.  Rader  who  rescued  him. 

"Oh,  Alex,  I  want  Blanche  to  help  me  with  the 
quilts  this  afternoon."  She  addressed  her  husband, 
and  then  apologized  to  Carron.  "It  happens  that 
at  this  time  of  year  we  are  most  busy,  getting 
the  house  in  order  before  the  rains  set  in.  I  hope 
you  won't  mind  being  left  to  yourself  to-day?" 

Carron  assured  her  that  his  wish  was  not  at  all 
to  disturb  the  routine  of  the  place,  and  that  perhaps 
some  other  day  when  Miss  Rader  had  a  little  time 
to  waste  she  would —  On  the  whole  he  was  re- 
lieved, though  he  could  have  wished  that  the  girl 
had  shown  some  feeling  one  way  or  another.  But 
she  did  not  even  drop  her  alert  mood  to  indifference. 
It  was  Rader  who  was  disconcerted.  He  rose, 
gathering  up  his  book,  gave  Carron  a  hasty  glance, 
embarrassed,  apologetic,  as  if  he  would  say,  "I  have 
done  my  best,"  and  murmuring  something  about  not 

68 


BLANCHE 

T)eing  disturbed  that  morning,  went  hastily  out.    His 
very  back  was  eloquent  of  a  sense  of  defeat. 

"Confound  the  man,"  Carron  thought;  "what  ails 
Jhim?    AVhat  does  he  think  I  want  ?" 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  WOOD  WALK 

ABANDONED  by  Rader,  left  by  the  women  to 
the  melancholy  sight  of  a  spent  breakfast  table, 
Carron  put  on  his  hat  at  an  exasperated  backward 
angle  and  opened  the  outer  door. 

Little  doors  opening  without  the  formality  of 
a  hall,  with  delightful  directness  on  the  forest, 
seemed  to  be  a  characteristic  of  this  old  part  of  the 
house.  He  stepped  from  one  soft  greenish  light  into 
another  deeper  and  more  sharply  marked  with  shad- 
ows. A  warmer  and  fresher  air  met  him,  and  the 
ground  sprung  under  his  feet.  The  stir  of  peace  was 
in  the  underwoods;  but  peace  was  not  at  all  what 
Carron  wanted.  This  veil  of  branches  was  monot- 
onous and  irritating.  He  wanted  again  a  glimpse 
of  mountains,  of  the  sudden  craggy  heads  against 
the  sky,  of  the  scattered  stone  heaps  at  their  feet,  of 
the  dramatic  lone  tree,  and  the  thin  river — the 
country  where  such  a  creature  as  Son  of  the  Wind 
might  inhabit.  He  walked  slowly  along  the  side  of 
the  house,  looking  upon  the  ground,  seeing,  in  every 

70 


THE   WOOD    WALK 

fantastic  silhouetted  mass  of  branches,  a  shadow  as 
of  a  horse  in  the  sky. 

He  came  to  the  corner  of  the  house  and  paused, 
aimless.  He  had  a  sense  of  losing  his  hold  on  the 
situation.  He  understood  that  Rader  was  a  man 
guarded,  both  by  his  isolation  at  the  end  of  that  long 
passage,  and  by  the  vigilance  of  his  straightly-in- 
quiring  wife.  Furthermore,  in  this  flat  mood  of  the 
morning,  it  might  be  that  seeing  Rader  would  do  no 
good  at  all.  No  doubt  Rader  regretted  urging  him 
to  stay ;  and  was  at  a  loss  to  know  how  to  make  good 
his  random  promise  of  a  companion.  Practical  ap- 
plication of  ideas  was  evidently  not  the  scholar's 
strong  point. 

He  heard  his  name  called.  The  voice  came  from 
over  his  head.  He  raised  his  eyes.  The  windows 
of  his  room  were  above  him,  all  opened  wide,  with 
curtains  drawn  back.  The  flight  of  outside  steps 
was  near  to  where  he  stood,  and,  leaning  on  the 
wooden  rail  of  the  little  balcony,  Blanche  Rader 
was  looking  down  upon  him.  She  had  a  cloth  in 
her  hand  as  if  she«had  been  dusting,  and  a  cloth 
tied  over  her  head.  With  her  hair  covered  by  this 
trying  bandage,  all  in  her  face  that  had  passed  un- 
noticed or  not  been  noticed  enough  started  out  at 
him.  Her  eyes  showed  bluer,  larger,  and  her  eye- 
brows became  a  beauty.  He  saw  that  her  nose 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

was  inclined  to  the  large,  slightly  aquiline,  but 
without  any  look  of  pinching  at  the  bridge,  and 
with  adorable  pliant  nostrils.  Whatever  that  fea- 
ture may  have  given  to  her  face  of  overmuch 
will — or  obstinacy — the  mouth  made  up  for  now 
as  it  smiled  at  him. 

"Are  you  going  for  a  walk  ?"  she  asked. 

He  whipped  off  his  hat.  "To  tell  the  truth,  I 
don't  know  where  I'm  going."  He  hung  on  his 
heel,  enjoying  the  sight,  and  grudging  the  inroad 
it  made  on  his  concentration.  "Everything  looks 
the  same  to  me.  Perhaps  you  will  graciously  point 
out  a  pleasant  direction." 

She  rested  her  chin  consideringly  in  her  hand. 
"If  you  like,  I  can  go  with  you  and  show  you.  I 
shall  have  the  time.  Mother  has  changed  her  mind 
about  the  up-stairs  cleaning.  She  is  going  to  help 
father  with  his  books  instead." 

Fate,  it  seemed,  had  decreed  that  the  morning 
should  be  given  to  this  young  woman.  Or,  did 
he  see  the  hand  of  Rader  obscurely  working  in 
the  dark?  If  that  were  so,  he  reflected,  the  bias  on 
Rader's  part  was  probably  due  to  the  fact  that  there 
was  no  one  else  to  commit  him  to.  Yet,  for  all  he 
knew,  the  girl  herself  might  be  responsible  for  the 
alteration  of  Mrs.  Rader's  plan. 

Carron  resigned  himself.  "I'd  like  it,"  he  de- 
72 


THE   WOOD    WALK 

clared  with  emphasis,  and  to  his  surprise  realized 
that  he  had  spoken  the  truth,  "I'd  like  it  above  all 
things." 

She  gave  a  slight  sidewise  inclination  of  the 
head,  accepting  this.  "Then,  if  you'll  just  wait  a 
moment — "  She  turned  to  the  door  behind  her 
which  stood  open  and  entered  the  room. 

He  saw  her  catch  up  his  pillow,  give  it  a  pat,  and 
deposit  it  plump  and  smooth  upon  his  smoothed  up 
bed,  flick  her  dusting  cloth  over  the  top  of  the 
bureau,  then  stoop  and  gather  up  his  soiled  linen 
from  the  floor  where  he  had  thoughtlessly  flung 
it.  This  was  worse  than  having  her  mail  his  letters 
for  him.  He  must  see  that  she  didn't  have  to  do 
that  again.  She  matter-of-factly  rolled  the  garments 
up  under  her  arm,  and,  coming  to  one  of  the  open 
windows,  called  to  him,  "I'll  send  your  things  to 
the  Chinaman,  shan't  I;  he'll  have,  them  done  in 
a  few  days." 

Carron  replied  that  she  was  very  thoughtful. 
This  mixture  of  domesticity  and  idyl  was  con- 
fusing. 

He  watched  her  close  all  his  windows  but  one, 
draw  all  curtains,  and  then  close  the  door,  shutting 
herself  from  sight.  There  was  a  moment  of  silence, 
and  he  wondered  if,  in  the  interval,  she  had  con- 
descended to  take  off  her  sweeping  cap  in  front 

73 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

of  his  mirror.  Then  he  heard  the  shutting  of  the 
inner  door.  He  awaited  her  in  the  hall  at  the 
foot  of  the  clambering  stair.  His  expectation  had 
not  time  to  sharpen  to  impatience  before  she  ap- 
peared, still  in  her  brown  skirt  and  working  blouse, 
but  with  the  dull  cloud  of  her  hair  admirably  con- 
trolled. 

"We  might  go  out  through  the  new  house," 
she  suggested,  and  led  the  way. 

The  dust  of  yesterday  was  gone  from  the  dining- 
room,  but  the  chairs,  covered  with  cloths,  still  tow- 
ered terrifically  on  the  tables.  The  hard,  yellowish 
light  was  reflected  on  them  from  four  directions. 
She  looked  up  at  the  ceiling  and  around  at  the 
staring  uncurtained  windows.  "It's  a  beautiful 
dining-room,"  she  said;  then  her  unexpected  quick 
turn  of  the  head  caught  Carron's  expression.  She 
smiled,  appreciative,  but  not  disturbed  by  his  amuse- 
ment. "It  is  a  beautiful  dining-room,"  she  ex- 
plained, "it's  so  convenient.  Convenient  things  look 
just  as  beautiful  to  mother  as  pretty  ones  do  to  us," 
she  added,  as  their  feet  made  a  clatter  down  the 
glistening  uncarpeted  hall.  "Of  course,  the  old 
house  is  nicer  to  look  at,  and  to  live  in;  but  these 
rooms  are  quite  nice  to  dance  in,  and  when  I  was 
a  child,  I  used  to  like  to  play  here.  I  used  to 
love  to  make  a  run,  and  then  slide  from  there — " 

74 


THE   WOOD   WALK 

she  indicated  with  her  finger —  "down  to  the  front 
door." 

Carron  saw  that  the  aesthetic  sense  of  this  young 
woman  had  been  neglected — he  doubted  if  she  knew 
she  had  one — and  he  observed  that  her  body  rejoiced 
in  activity.  He  was  altogether  entertained  and  de- 
lighted. "You  would  love  to  slide  now,  wouldn't 
you?"  he  inquired. 

She  glanced  sidelong  at  the  floor,  but  walked  de- 
murely. She  resisted  his  invitation,  but  the  invita- 
tion of  the  sky  and  trees,  seen  through  the  open 
door,  she  evidently  found  more  potent.  Whether 
she  ran  or  not  he  wasn't  sure,  but  her  getting  over 
the  threshold  and  half-way  down  the  steps  was  like 
nothing  so  much  as  the  flash  of  a  bird.  She  looked 
around  her,  and  back  at  him,  and  her  animation 
seemed  to  have  taken  a  leap.  "Which  way  shall  we 
go?"  she  inquired. 

"Oh,  any  way!  You  take  me!"  Her  spirits  had 
caught  him.  His  irritation,  his  chafings  were  with- 
drawn. 

"Then  I  will  take  you  to  the  spring.  It  is  about 
the  only  thing  there  is  to  see  that  we  will  have 
time  for." 

If  he  had  expected  her  to  race  him  through"  the 
shadows  he  was  to  be  disappointed.  For  after  that 
one  instant  of  wildness  that  had  touched  her  as  she 

75 


SON   OF  THE  .WIND 

stood  on  the  threshold,  she  schooled  herself  to  a 
leisurely  saunter.  She  had  not  quite  the  air  of  a 
girl  curbed  and  repressed  to  her  good  behavior,  but 
more  the  air  of  a  girl  unconsciously  holding 
much  in  reserve.  What  the  intenser  expression 
might  be  one  could  guess  at — but  it  would  be  un- 
certain w6rk.  It  was  her  simpler,  more  exterior 
self  she  was  giving  him  now  as  they  walked  along 
the  drive.  She  went  in  silence  a  few  paces,  her 
lips  touched  with  some  amusing  thought;  then 
turning  to  him  with  the  mischievous  elation  that 
had  first  met  his  eyes  when  she  had  entered  the  din- 
ing-room. "I  think  I  have  something  of  yours," 
she  volunteered. 

He  looked  puzzled. 

"Didn't  you  lose  something  yesterday  when  you 
were  driving  up  ?" 

His  hand  clapped  his  watch  poclcet.  "Why  I — 
don't  know  of  anything."  He  felt  quite  at  sea, 
though  her  smiling  eyes  were  accusing  him  that  cer- 
tainly he  must  know  very  well. 

She  slid  her  hand  into  the  fold  of  her  skirt  where 
women  conceal  the  mysterious  thing  they  call  a 
pocket.  "I  felt  sure  it  was  yours  as  soon  as  I  saw 
you,"  she  said  as  if  there  admitted  of  no  doubt  on 
this  point.  "You  came  near  losing  it  a  second  time, 
too.  My  pup  got  it  and  triel  to  swallow  it."  She 

76 


THE   WOOD   WALK 

drew  her  hand  slowly  out  again,  enjoying  his  sus- 
pense, showing  herself  again  the  child.  The  sound 
of  a  horse's  hoofs  on  the  drive  in  front  of  them 
made  her  pause  and  look  down  the  brown  track. 
Around  a  near  turn  the  rider  came  in  view ;  and  she 
closed  her  hand  tightly,  and  let  it  fall  at  her  side. 
The  man  on  the  road,  the  man  the  Raders  called 
"Bert,"  pulled  his  pony  to  a  walk  and  got  unhandily 
out  of  the  saddle. 

He  had  seen  the  girl  first.  His  look  at  sight  of 
Carron  made  that  unsusceptible  person  sorry  for 
him.  He  seemed  to  consider  the  possibilities  of  re- 
treat, then  came  on  unwillingly  as  if  impelled  by 
a  combination  of  appearances  which  he  half  hated 
and  half  feared. 

Coming  quite  close  to  them  he  dragged  off  his 
hat.  "Good  morning,  Blanche,"  his  voice  was  soft 
and  suppressed. 

She  gave  him  a  clear  and  rather  merciless  eye. 
"Good  morning."  She  seemed  to  be  waiting  for 
him  to  go  by,  but  he  came  a  little  nearer  and  stopped, 
his  hat  clenched  nervously  in  his  hand.  Evidently  the 
poor  devil  was  in  disgrace  for  his  last  night's  be- 
havior. 

'  "How  are  you  this  morning?"  Carron  said  cheer- 
fully. 

The  man  replied  sullenly,  inaudibly. 
77 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

Blanche  Rader  gave  this  greeting  between  the  two 
her  pointed  surprise. 

Carron  smiled  at  her.  "Well,  aren't  you  going  to 
show  me  what  you  promised  ?" 

She  sent  a  flying  look  at  Ferrier,  gave  a  slight 
shrug  as  if  to  say  that  after  all  his  being  there  didn't 
matter.  She  held  up  and  opened  her  hand.  "There 
it  is." 

Carron  looked  curiously  at  the  twenty-dollar  gold 
piece.  In  spite  of  him  the  color  was  coming  into  his 
face.  He  recognized  the  coin  as  being  new,  as  being 
of  the  date  that  he  remembered. 

"Here  it  is,"  the  girl  insisted,  holding  it  out. 

To  appear  surprised  was  not  difficult.  "Where 
did  you  find  it  ?"  . 

"A  little  way  below  where  I  caught  the  stage.  A 
stirrup  was  getting  loose  and  I  got  off  to  fix  it,  and 
dropped  the  hair-pin  I  was  fixing  it  with;  just  put 
my  hand  into  the  dust  to  get  it  again  and  found  this 
in  my  fingers !" 

Carron  raised  his  eyes,  most  conscious  of  the 
other  man's  face.  It  was  a  study.  The  fellow  had 
stretched  his  neck ;  he  was  crimson,  his  mouth  a  lit- 
tle open,  and  he  looked  at  Carron  in  a  suspense  that 
was  equal  to  suffering,  expecting  his  next  word. 

"Of  course,  I'd  like  very  much  to  accept  it,"  Car- 
78 


THE   WOOD    WALK 

ron  said,  very  much  amused  by  the  play,  "but  un- 
fortuately  I  have  lost  nothing«of  the  kind." 

She  seemed  incredulous.  "But  you — "  she  began, 
and  Carron  was  sure  she  was  about  to  say,  "You 
recognized  it" — which  was  true  indeed. 

He  shook  his  head.  "It  isn't  mine !  Couldn't  some 
one  on  the  stage  have  lost  it — or  some  one  else  in 
this  part  of  the  country?  You  don't  happen  to 
know,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  man  on  the  road,  "of 
any  one  around  here  who  has  lost  such  a  thing  ?" 

There  was  a  click  in  the  fellow's  throat.  He 
seemed  to  draw  breath  with  a  great  effort.  "It's 
mine!" 

Blanche  Rader  gave  him  the  full  benefit  of  her 
amazement.  "Why,  you — "  She  started  again, 
"Why,  Bert—" 

"It's  mine ;  I  lost  it  yesterday !"  He  drew  a  trem- 
bling hand  across  his  forehead,  suddenly  damp. 

She  took  him  all  in,  his  worn  flannel  shirt;  patched 
trousers  stuck  into  old  boots  that  needed  patching, 
his  whole  appearance  of  a  rather  reckless  poverty; 
she  glanced  at  Carron.  His  eye  refuted  her  implica- 
tion. Its  steady  insistence  expected  a  certain  action 
from  her  as  it  had  from  the  man  on  the  road.  She 
was  perplexed,  and  he  thought  a  little  chagrined  that 
her  amusing  supposition  had  taken  this  unexpected 

79 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

turn  on  her,  but  she  held  out  the  gold  piece  slowly 
and  let  it  fall  into  the  other  man's  hand. 

The  man  on  the  road  seemed  submerged  from 
thought  by  some  crushing  emotion.  Expression  was 
washed  out  of  his  face ;  he  was  nerveless ;  his  throat 
made  a  convulsive  movement — an  attempt  for 
speech;  his  hand  closed  on  the  money,  and  with  a 
jerk  plunged  it  into  his  pocket.  "I — "  lie  began,  but 
there  his  tongue  stopped;  his  head  drooped,  and  he 
turned  away.  He  moved  on  up  the  drive,  leading  his 
horse  as  if  he  had  not  ambition  enough  to  mount  it, 
and  left  a  quality  of  silence  behind  him  that  was  as- 
tonishment. "What  in  the  world?"  Blanche  Rader 
seemed  not  to  ask  of  Carron  so  much  as  herself. 
"What  in  the  world  is  the  matter  with  him?" 

Carron's  eyes  were  twinkling.  "Probably  thought 
you  were  going  to  withhold  his  proper  due." 

"But  it  doesn't  seem  as  if  it  could  be  his!" 

"Oh,  why  not?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  smiling  scorn,  very  pretty 
upon  such  a  tender  mouth.  "Where  would  he  get  it 
— twenty  dollars !" 

"He  sold  a  horse,"  Carron  said.  He  said  it  to 
amuse  himself.  It  fitted  so  nicely  into  an  outward 
lie  and  an  inward  truth ;  but  the  expression  it  sum- 
moned in  her  was  amazing — the  sudden  proud  sus- 
picious look  her  eyes  darted,  the  rush  of  a  red  spot 

80 


THE   WOOD   WALK 

to  each  cheelc,  the  quick  lift  of  the  bosom.  It  was 
gone  in  a  flash,  leaving  her  paler,  gone  with  the  long 
sigh  which  expelled  her  fears.  "Why,  his  horse  isn't 
worth  ten  dollars,"  she  said  lightly. 

Carron  couldn't  immediately  speak.  As  quickly 
as  her  expression  had  come  and  gone — so  quickly  a 
supposition  had  touched  his  mind.  He  entertained  it 
not  a  minute.  It  wasn't  possible !  This  being  who 
fastened  on  stirrups  with  a  hair-pin!  "What's  got 
me?"  he  thought.  "I'm  so  possessed  with  an  idea 
that  I  accuse  every  one  I  see  of  knowing  about  it." 

Blanche  Rader's  momentary  suspicion,  whatever 
it  had  been,  evidently  had  blown  away.  Mere  cur- 
iosity was  left.  "Did  he  tell  you  he  had  sold  a 
horse?"  she  asked. 

"I  gathered  it  from  what  he  said." 

"Then  you've  met  him  before?" 

"Yesterday.  He  very  kindly  directed  me  here. 
He  said  Raders  might  take  me  in  and  keep  me 
overnight,  and  so,  you  see,  I  am  grateful  to  him." 

"Yes,  he's  obliging."  She  spoke  like  one  anxious 
to  be  fair,  but  there  was  a  trace  of  irritation  in  her 
voice.  "I'm  glad  if  he  has  made  some  money,  for 
I'm  afraid  he  needs  it  terribly.  This  has  been  a 
cruel  summer." 

"He  lives  in  this  part  of  the  country,  I  suppose?" 

"A  mile  down  the  main  road.  The  Ferriers  have 
81 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

been  here  longer  than  we  have.  I've  known  Bert 
ever  since  I  was  a  child."  They  were  walking  again, 
still  on  the  main  road,  with  unending  trees  around 
them,  and  with  motion  her  good  humor  was  return- 
ing. 

The  drama  just  enacted  on  the  drive  had  inter- 
ested Carron,  and  pricked  his  curiosity  far  more 
than  he  had  shown.  What  was  the  girl's  mind 
toward  the  man  on  the  road,  and  why,  taking  the 
gold  piece  from  her,  should  the  fellow  turn  upon  her 
such  a  face.  He  looked  at  her  himself,  and  looking 
thought,  "She  certainly  isn't  pretty.  She's  less — 
or  more."  Aloud  he  said,  "And  have  you  lived  here 
long?" 

"Eight  years.  The  new  house  has  been  built  since 
then,"  she  mused.  "Of  course,  the  old  drawing- 
rooms  were  impossible.  Their  woodwork  was  rotted, 
but  I  was  sorry  when  they  tore  down  the  old  ball- 
room." 

"The  ball-room?"  Carron  repeated,  with  an  in- 
voluntary survey  of  the  solemn  prospect  of  trees. 

"Yes,  I  liked  it."  Her  white  teeth  flashed  at  the 
memory.  "It  was  so  funny,  and  so  grand.  Leslie  de 
Shallener,  the  dancer — did  you  ever  hear  of  her? 
— she  was  up  here  the  first  summer  we  had  the  place ; 
and  one  night  she  took  me  into  the  ball-room  where 
we  were  all  alone,  and  no  light  but  moonlight,  and 

82 


THE   WOOD    WALK 

danced  for  me.  I've  never  forgotten  it.  I  don't  often 
see  things  like  that." 

"I'm  sure  /  don't,"  said  Carron.  What  he  was 
thinking  of,  however,  was  the  great  room,  and  the 
large-eyed  child,  spellbound  in  the  moonlight,  with 
the  gyrations  of  a  toe-dancer. 

"I  think  you  must  have  seen  a  great  deal,"  she 
answered.  "Look,  there  are  the  old  gate-posts. 
They  ought  to  have  been  pulled  down  long  ago,  but 
I  am  afraid  I  should  miss  them.  The  spring  path 
turns  off  just  here." 

He  would  hardly  have  known  it  was  a  path.  To 
one  driving  by  it  would  look  like  a  natural  opening 
in  the  forest.  She  had  to  lead  him  now,  the  way  was 
so  narrow.  It  showed  indications  of  having  been 
wider  once  in  the  short  green  growth  of  pine  on 
either  side.  Some  little  distance  on  he  saw  the  frag- 
ment of  a  board  hanging  gray  and  rain-worn  from  a 
post ;  farther  yet  the  thin  iron  legs  of  a  chair — such 
a  chair  as  one  sees  around  cafe  tables — thrust  out 
of  the  drift  of  pine-needles.  Between  these  relics 
the  lithe  body  of  the  girl  swung  at  a  quick- footing 
pace,  here  stooping  her  head,  there  lifting  a  branch 
aside,  now  glancing  over  her  shoulder  at  him.  Then, 
a  little  in  front  of  him,  he  saw  two  hand-rails,  totter- 
ing, all  but  collapsing,  yet  somehow  clinging  to- 
gether, and  opening  out,  embracing  a  sort  of  in- 

83 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

closure.  Within  was  a  level  space,  clear  of  pines 
and  perhaps  thirty  feet  across.  In  the  center  of  this 
Blanche  Rader  was  standing  when  he  came  up  to 
her,  standing  by  a  circular  railing  closely  boarded 
below,  and  with  a  broad  ledge  around  the  top  of  it 
inclosing  what  looked  to  be  a  well.  An  iron  bench, 
scarlet  with  rust,  was  toppled  upon  the  ground.  The 
helplessness  of  its  aspect,  four  legs  in  the  air,  and 
the  staggering  white  rail,  gave  an  air  of  forlornness 
to  the  spectacle  which  in  no  way  seemed  to  touch 
the  girl's  consciousness.  Custom,  no  doubt,  had 
taken  away  her  vision  of  the  place. 

"This  is  where  they  used  to  come  in  the  morning 
to  drink  the  water,"  she  explained. 

Carron  was  astonished  and  enlightened.  "Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  that  this  was  a  health  resort,  off 
here  at  the  end  of  creation?" 

She  nodded.  "  'The  Giant  Mineral  Springs  Ho- 
tel.' Remember  the  tumble-down  sign  as  you  came 
in  the  gate?  I  supposed  you  knew — but  of  course 
mother  never  speaks  of  it.  She  feels  so  badly  about 
it." 

Carron  raised  interrogative  eyebrows  at  her. 
"What  is  wrong  with  having  a  health  resort?" 

She  gave  him  all  her  smile.  "Nothing,  if  it  is  a 
real  one.  But  you  see — well,  we  didn't  know  when 
we  bought  it." 

84 


THE   WOOD    WALK 

"You — bought  it — "  The  words  were  not  quite 
a  question,  but  allowed  themselves  to  be  taken  as 
such. 

"Not  exactly.  I  don't  think  any  one  would  ever 
have  done  that,  do  you?  Father  took  it  for  a  debt. 
A  friend  of  his,  a  Mr.  Janfer,  built  the  place.  I 
think  they  called  it  'Janfer's  Folly.'  I  know  he  lost 
money  on  it.  It  was  a  very  fine  house  at  the  time 
it  was  built,  but  it  had  been  closed  so  long  when  we 
got  it,  it  was  dreadfully  run  down.  You  see  we 
thought  we  could  sell  it.  Father  thought  the  min- 
eral springs  would  be  worth  something,  but  when 
we  had  them  analyzed  we  found  out  they  were  just 
ordinary  water  that  had  been  charged  with  sulphur 
and  iron."  She  laughed.  "Think  what  Mr.  Janfer 
said  when  father  told  him  what  we  had  found  out ! 
He  said,  'Why,  of  course,  I  expected  that  you  would 
do  as  I  did." 

"And  Mr.  Rader  didn't?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "Mother  wanted  to,  but  he 
wouldn't  let  her.  She  says  he  doesn't  have  the  prob- 
lem of  running  a  hotel  on  not  enough;  and  be- 
sides it  would  be  good  for  the  people  to  drink  a  lot 
of  water  even  if  it  is  just  plain.  But  father  said  he 
couldn't  live  a  pretense." 

"And  how  about  you?"  Carron  inquired,  resting 
his  arm  on  the  well  curb.  The  warm  personal  look  he 

85 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

turned  on  her — the  look  that  had  got  him  so  much 
of  what  he  wanted — took  away  from  the  imperti- 
nence of  curiosity.  Indeed,  he  was  more  than  curi- 
ous ;  he  was  interested,  attracted  by  the  unusualness 
of  the  three  people,  struck  by  their  singular  sur- 
rounding. To  himself,  if  he  had  thought  of  himself 
at  that  moment,  he  would  have  appeared  the  idlest 
of  idlers,  the  most  disinterested  of  acquaintances; 
but,  for  a  fact,  he  was  never  disinterested.  He  had 
the  imagination  that  works  only  toward  an  object. 
With  a  faculty  he  was  not  aware  of  he  utilized 
everything.  He  was  utilizing  now,  unintentionally 
utilizing  this  girl,  to  draw  out  of  her  details  of  char- 
acter, of  opinion,  of  history,  among  the  people  in 
the  small  scenario  around  him — the  actors  among 
whom  he  expected  to  play  a  part. 

She  was  a  clear  well  to  draw  from,  but  over  his 
last  question  she  took  time. 

"I  mean,"  he  explained  himself,  "what  would  you 
decide  about  it?" 

"I  ?  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  it  would  be  hard 
to  know  all  the  time  that  you  were  cheating  people ; 
but  the  way  the  thing  is  now  is  rather  hard  on 
mother." 

"Doesn't  she — isn't  it — "  He  was  afraid  he  was 
going  too  far,  but  the  idea  of  any  one  in  financial 
straits,  above  all  these  two  women,  disturbed  him 

86 


THE   WOOD    WALK 

mightily.   Financial  assistance  was  something  he  un- 
derstood how  to  offer  very  well. 

"Oh,  yes;  we  have  a  number  of  people  in  the 
summer.  We  do  quite  well  enough  in  a  business 
way,  only  if  it  were  a  health  resort  we  should  do 
much  better;  so  much  better  that  by  and  by  we 
could  stop,  and  go  somewhere  else,  and  see  a  differ- 
ent sort  of  people." 

"Doesn't  she  like  the  sort  of  people  here?" 
"Oh,  for  herself  she  doesn't  care  at  all!    It's  on 
my  account,  you  see."     She  made  a  little  grimace. 
"The  people  who  come  here  are  not  'advantageous' 
—at  least  that  is  what  she  says." 

Carron  could  easily  imagine  it.  The  people  who 
turn  up  in  such  out-of-the-way  places  are  those 
strange  people  out  of  nowhere.  He  could  very  easily 
fancy  how  they  would  look,  sitting  around  the  yel- 
low pine  drawing-room  in  the  evenings.  "And  do 
you  like  them?" 

"They  are  more  fun  than  the  advantageous  peo- 
ple ;  yes,  on  the  whole,  I  do." 
"And  do  you  like  the  place  ?" 
"In  the  summer  ?  Yes,  it  is  rather  fun." 
"No,  at  all  times,  summer  and  winter.    How  do 
you  like  living  here  all  the  year  around?" 

Evidently  she  had  never  considered  this  before. 
"I  don't  know.  It's  my  home." 

87 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

"What  of  that?  I  never  liked  my  home,  and  I 
haven't  seen  it  for  ten  years." 

She  had  a  way  of  seeming  never  to  have  formed 
an  opinion  on  a  subject,  but  just  to  meet  it  for  the 
first  time  as  it  was  presented  to  her.  At  this  one  she 
looked  surprised  and  a  little  dubious.  "I  like  it  here 
well  enough."  She  glanced  vaguely  around  her.  "I 
like  it  much  better  than  the  Sacramento  Valley.  It's 
beautiful  here  when  you  get  off  in  the  mountains." 
The  expression  in  her  eyes  grew  further  away. 
"Yes,  I  think  I'm  happy  here.  At  least,"  she  mur- 
mured it  as  if  she  had  forgotten  he  was  there,  "I 
have  been  happy  this  September." 

"I  hope  you're  not  going  to  be  less  happy  for  the 
next  week."  It  was  horribly  crude,  the  primary  per- 
sonality. Carron  blushed  for  himself,  but  the  result 
was  what  he  wanted. 

Her  gaze  came  back  promptly  upon  him.  She 
did  not  reply,  did  not  try  to  turn  his  sentiment. 
Actually,  with  her  large  arrested  gaze,  she  seemed  to 
consider  it.  In  the  pause,  in  the  silence,  he  felt  his 
foolish  platitude  was  gathering  significance.  "What 
can  you  be  to  my  happiness  or  unhappiness  ?"  the 
look  of  hers  seemed  to  say.  Seriousness  was  the  last 
note  he  wanted  to  strike;  but  in  spite  of  him,  it  was 
struck  between  them.  The  question  in  her  eyes  had 
provoked  the  question  from  his.  For  a  breath,  the 

88 


THE   WOOD    WALK 

tentative  thought  was  sent  out  from  one  to  the  other, 
and  withdrawn. 

"There  is  one  favor  I  must  ask  of  you,"  Carron 
said  lightly.  "I  shall  have  to  let  you  make  my  pillows 
sit  up  properly,  for  that  I  can't  do;  but  I  do  draw 
the  line  at  your  rubbing  down  my  mare." 

It  was  a  chance  shot,  but  it  drew  fire.  "Oh,  I  en- 
joy that.  I  like  it  better  than  the  housework.  George 
cleans  the  stalls  for  me,  and  usually  does  the  horses. 
I  only  oversee,  but  I  curried  yours  for  the  fun  of  it. 
She  is  such  a  beauty,  and  she  was  quite  glad  to  see 
me." 

"Naturally !  She'll  be  delighted  to  carry  you,  too. 
Perhaps  some  day  when  you  have  time  you  will  be 
good  enough  to  try  her." 

"Oh,  I  should  love  to!" 

Her  fervor  quickened  him  with  a  feeling  of  com- 
panionship for  her.  "You  like  them,  don't  you  ?" 

"Horses?"  Her  hesitation  surprised  him.  "Oh, 
yes,  I  like  them  well  enough.  They  are  lovely!" 
She  meditated,  then  added,  "But  they're  so  silly." 

"Silly?" 

"Yes;  letting  us  put  steel  in  their  mouths,  and 
stick  steel  into  their  sides,  and  pull  their  heads  about 
with  reins — giving  in  to  us  and  obeying  us,  when 
they  could  trample  us  into  nothing!" 

He  drew  down  the  corners  of  his  mouth  and  shot 
89 

\ 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

up  his  eyebrows  at  her.  "But  sometimes  they  do 
trample  us  into  nothing." 

"Not  often."  She  spoke  as  if  it  were  to  be  re- 
gretted. 

"My  bloodthirsty  young  friend !"  He  threw  back 
his  head  and  laughed  until  the  desolate  old  spring 
walk  and  well  echoed.  "Don't  you  believe  in  the 
Christian  virtues  of  meekness  and  obedience?" 

"No — they're  stupid.  They're  all  right  for  chil- 
dren, and  dogs ;  but  for  splendid  crashing  things  like 
horses — " 

He  looked  at  her  curiously.  The  faint  color  was 
coming  up  under  her  dusky  white  skin,  not  rose,  but 
a  duller,  more  passionate  hue.  Her  head  had  turned 
slowly  to  the  profile,  and  again  he  felt  her  thought 
was  traveling  away  from  him.  She  did  not  see,  as 
Carron  saw,  a  long  slow-dancing  shadow  coming 
down  the  walk  between  the  gray  hand-rails.  The  ap- 
proach of  feet  was  soundless  on  the  forest's  strewn 
carpet.  She  did  not  see  her  father  as  he  dawned  be- 
tween the  close  pine  branches. 

He  stopped  just  at  the  threshold  of  the  inclosure, 
a  queer  figure  astray  in  the  trees,  an  indoor  figure, 
one  that  would  have  been  at  home  at  a  desk,  or  that 
would  have  known  its  way  about  among  book- 
shelves. His  glasses  were  pushed  up,  his  foggy  hair 
was  distracted  on  his  head,  his  hands  plunged 
deep  in  his  pockets.  In  the  warm,  out-of-door  light 

90 


THE   WOOD    WALK 

he  looked  more  dry,  more  lined,  more  than  ever 
built  of  thoughts,  without  actions.  His  survey  was 
straight  before  him  at  his  dreaming  daughter.  Car- 
ron  had  never  seen  him  look  at  any  one  so  deliber- 
ately, so  concentratedly  or  so  long.  This  time  there 
was  a  deal  more  than  affection  in  his  face ;  there  was 
introspection,  there  was  a  philosophic  smile. 

When  his  eyes  moved,  they  moved  rapidly.  They 
met  the  young  man's  with  an  interrogation,  pointed, 
peculiar,  unaware  of  itself,  and  the  more  unguarded 
because  of  that.  "How  is  it?  Well,  what  did  you 
find  out?"  he  seemed  to  demand.  Carron  felt  sud- 
denly limp.  The  significance  of  the  question  seized 
him  before  he  could  challenge  it.  For  once  he  was 
captured  and  carried  off  his  feet  by  another  man's 
conviction.  He  received  it  as  a  fact,  reflected  upon 
him  from  the  scholar's  candid,  inquisitive  face.  The 
duel  of  looks — "Can  you  mean  it?"  answering  "Did 
she  tell  you?"i — passed  between  them,  across  the  dis- 
tance, shifted,  and  with  a  common  instinct  merged 
into  a  direct  regard  of  the  girl.  She  sat  above  them, 
forgetful  of  the  one,  unaware  of  the  other,  looking 
over  their  heads  at  the  invisible  something  she  saw, 
far  away  from  this  time  and  place.  She  appeared  an 
unfamiliar  creature,  suddenly  of  importance,  of  tre- 
mendous significance.  "A  woman !"  he  thought ;  and, 
with  a  mixed  sense  of  amazement  and  incredulous 
delight  repeated,  "A  woman,  good  Lord,  a  woman !" 


CHAPTER  V 

IMPROBABILITIES 

AS  long  as  his  mind  remained  astonished  into  re- 
jLjL  ceptiveness,  passive  to  the  sharp  point  of  the 
scholar's  thought,  so  long  Carron  believed  the  con- 
viction that  had  been  thrust  upon  him.  For  that  time 
he  saw  his  adventure  simplified.  It  spread  before 
him  definite  and  clear  to  get  through  as  open  land 
come  upon  abrupt  from  forest.  But,  no  sooner  had 
the  recoiled  reason  time  to  gather  itself  than  the  re- 
action of  feeling  began ;  the  rallying  of  logic,  when 
the  positive  combative  brain  seized  the  question,  pull- 
ing it  apart ;  the  rushing  in  of  doubts  from  all  sides ; 
the  swift  review  by  skepticism  of  what  was  probable 
or  improbable;  and,  last,  the  laughter!  It  was  in- 
audible. It  shook  him  inwardly.  A  woman?  What 
had  the  sound  of  that  word  to  do  with  the  idea  of  a 
wild  horse  ?  Women,  those  creatures  without  initia- 
tive, compelled  in  their  excursions  into  the  wilder- 
ness to  certain  spaces  and  to  limited  hours,  whose 
adventures,  when  they  had  them,  were  always  un- 
original— the  mere  repetition  of  some  man's  greater 

92 


IMPROBABILITIES 

adventure — how  should  one  of  these  chance  upon  a 
discovery  unusual  and  heroic? 

The  scholar  had  come  a  step  forward,  and  now 
tentatively  lifted  his  voice.  "Blanche?"  he  said. 

She  turned,  startled  from  her  dream,  wavered  in 
uncertain  balance,  and  snatched  at  something  to  sup- 
port herself.  Carron  grasped  her  outflung  hand.  It 
was  warm  and  smooth,  with  a  remarkable  live  feel- 
ing as  of  some  captured  little  animal.  It  rested  un- 
conscious of  what  held  it,  preoccupied,  intense. 
Whatever  feeling  possessed  this  girl  seemed  to  pos- 
sess her  completely,  head  to  heel.  Her  surprise  at 
sight  of  her  father  had  run  into  her  finger-tips. 
"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  leaning  forward. 

"Your  mother  says  she  is  waiting  for  you  to 
stitch  the  quilts,"  he  explained,  advancing.  "I've 
been  looking  for  you  all  over  the  hill." 

"But  why  didn't  she  blow  the  horn?  Why  should 
she  send  you?  I  don't  believe  she  did,"  Blanche 
Rader  objected  mischievously  to  the  scholar's  diffi- 
dent glance.  "It  is  Mr.  Carron  who  has  waked  you 
up  and  got  you  out."  She  lowered  her  eyes  to  the 
young  man  with  a  smile,  realized  her  hand  was  still 
in  his,  smiled  a  little  more  with  a  faint  nervous 
quiver  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  and  her  fingers 
slipped  from  his.  She  slid  from  the  well-curb  be- 
fore he  could  help  her.  "I'm  sorry,"  she  said,  "I 

93 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

shall  have  to  go  back."  She  seemed  to  interrogate 
as  to  whether  the  two  men  would  accompany  her. 

The  print  of  her  ringers  was  still  warm  in  Car- 
ron's  palm,  the  brief  part  she  had  played  of  prin- 
cipal in  his  drama  keen  in  his  fancy,  the  impulse  was, 
follow !  But  Rader  was  the  person  his  logic  wanted, 
and  Rader  showed  no  disposition  to  move  from  the 
spot  where  he  stood.  He  put  thumb  and  finger  into 
his  pocket,  drew  out  a  little  yellow-bowled  pipe,  lit  it 
and  leaned  back  against  the  edge  of  the  well.  "You 
will  have  to  hurry,  won't  you?"  he  asked  his  daugh- 
ter. 

"Don't  let  us  detain  you,"  Carron  said. 

She  gave  an  amused,  puzzled  glance,  as  if  she 
thought  her  father's  behavior  a  little  odd.  "Very 
well,"  she  said,  "then,  since  you're  so  good,  I  will 
run." 

She  did  not  turn  back  along  the  way  they  had 
come,  but  dipped  into  the  wood  where  the  hill  rose 
steepest,  running  like  a  lapwing,  enjoying  the  quick 
motion,  smiling  as  she  darted  among  the  trees. 
Golden-brown  and  white  in  the  sun,  and  dusky 
white  and  dark-brown  in  shadow,  she  retreated  up 
the  irregular  aisle  of  branches,  and  Carron,  watch- 
ing her  flight,  wondered.  A  woman  like  that,  long- 
throated,  light  moving,  pliant  and  elusive!  When 
she  had  frowned  on  him,  asking  if  she  were  a 

94 


IMPROBABILITIES 

hunter;  when  she  had  leaned  on  the  balcony  as 
the  high  priestess  of  housework,  even  when  she  had 
spoken  of  currying  his  horse,  there  had  been  no  hint 
of  the  Amazon.  She  had  worn  a  graceful  air,  social 
and  schooled,  suggesting  the  walled  inclosure  where 
women  are  supposed  to  play.  There  was  no  hint  of 
the  Amazon  now — not  that;  only  a  suggestion  of 
wildness  afield,  of  moods  that  might  not  be  held  to 
the  beat  of  regulated  hours.  And  there  had  been 
other  moments  that  morning,  curious  moments, 
when  she  had  shown  inexplicable  looks.  He  re- 
called how  she  had  sat  dreaming  on  the  old  spring 
curb  with  eyes  of  imagination  fixed  on  some  place 
far  off.  "Splendid  trampling  things  like  horses,"  she 
had  said,  and  he  remembered  how  the  color  had 
come  up  in  her  face.  Well,  a  girl's  fancies !  but  what 
of  that  time  he  had  called  the  spot  of  alarm  to  her 
cheeks?  What  of  the  glance  she  had  darted  at  him 
and  his  joke  about  the  selling  of  a  horse,  suspicious, 
quick  as  a  sword?  His  mind  fluctuated  between 
credulity  and  a  smile. 

The  scholar  was  pulling  thoughtfully  on  his  pipe, 
his  eyes,  at  intervals,  making  excursions  to  the  young 
man's  face.  "He  believes  it,"  Carron  reflected,  "yes, 
by  Jove,  he  does !"  The  singular  old  chap,  always  in 
the  clouds,  knowing  nothing  real  until  it  was  trans- 
lated into  the  unreal,  his  belief  was  not  much  reassur- 

95 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

ance !  How  could  a  man  tell  in  what  foggy  ways  he 
came  by  his  ideas  ?  Evolved  them  out  of  his  own  im- 
agination, perhaps.  That  was  the  devilish  part  of 
people  with  imaginations.  But  there  was  the  man 
on  the  road.  Certainly  that  fellow  had  seemed  to 
have  his  feet  firmly  planted  on  earth,  and  his  eyes 
sharp  for  the  things  of  it.  Certainly  he  had  betrayed 
the  qualities  of  the  materialist,  who  will  make  sure 
of  his  fact  before  he  takes  it  seriously.  And  had  not 
he  looked  toward  the  girl  as  the  keeper  of  the  se- 
cret ?  "Try  Raders,"  he  had  said.  Hadn't  he  meant, 
"Try  Blanche  Rader?"  The  memory  of  how  those 
two  had  looked  when  they  had  stood  together  on 
the  drive,  and  the  fellow  had  taken  the  gold  piece 
from  her,  came  back  a  clear  little  picture.  In  the 
light  of  his  new  knowledge  the  thing  had  an  ugly 
look.  He  could  see  how  the  man  might  sell  her  confi- 
dence ;  but  to  take  the  money  from  her  hand !  To  be 
sure  it  had  been  only  a  way  by  which  the  thing  had 
reached  a  destination  for  which  it  was  first  intended. 
But  there  were  ways,  Carron  thought,  which  were 
worse  than  the  object  they  gained. 

He  caught  himself  drifting  just  on  the  edge  of 
credulity.  So  many  appearances  thrust  him  there; 
yet,  when  he  thought,  after  all,  they  were  but  ap- 
pearance— looks  surprised  out  of  faces,  at  the  mo- 
ment more  convincing  than  a  vocabulary,  but,  as 

96 


IMPROBABILITIES 

soon  as  they  disappeared,  leaving  the  reason  doubt- 
ful they  had  ever  existed.  He  had  not  had  the  reas- 
surance of  the  audible  word,  which  leaves  an  echo  in 
the  ear  as  well  as  in  the  mind,  and  gives  a  basis  to 
think  from.  Not  even  that,  yet  the  scholar  who  had 
come  out  to  find  him  was  evidently  confidently  ex- 
pecting he  had  something  to  tell. 

He  drew  a  deep  breath  for  his  dive  into  unknown 
waters.  He  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  walked 
a  little  meditative  half  circle  on  the  soft  piny  floor 
of  the  forest,  and  came  to  a  stop  square  in  front  of 
Rader.  "Well !"  he  said  with  a  falling  inflection. 

"Well?"  Rader  replied  interrogatively  and  smil- 
ing. 

"You  might  have  told  me  in  the  first  place.  You 
would  have  saved  me  some  trouble." 

Rader  breathed  a  cloud  of  smoke,  and  waited. 

"What  does  she  want  of  the  horse?"  Carron  said 
quietly.  He  said  it  so  quietly  one  could  hardly  think 
any  risk  attached  to  it  or  any  suspense  for  him. 

Rader  took  his  little  yellow-bowled  pipe  out  of  his 
mouth,  "Didn't  she  tell  you?" 

The  question  fell  pat  and  natural  as  if  this  were 
some  old,  often  discussed  matter  which  both  under- 
stood well  enough.  Carron  felt  that  he  was  smiling 
rather  foolishly.  He  shook  his  head. 

Rader's  pipe,  still  suspended  in  his  hand,  sent  up 
97 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

a  little  cloud  before  his  face  as  he  leaned  forward. 
"What  did  she  tell  you?"  he  asked. 

"The  truth  is,  I  don't  believe  she  knows  she's  told 
me  anything,"  Carron  confessed.  "In  a  manner  of 
speaking,  I  got  it  out  of  her." 

Rader  knitted  his  forehead.  This  way  of  ap- 
proaching the  matter  seemed  scarcely  to  his  fancy. 
"Better  ask  her  straight,"  he  said  laconically. 

"What  she  wants  of  it?" 

"Yes,  and  whether  she's  seen  it,  too.  Better  have 
it  all  square  from  the  first ;  let  her  know  what  you're 
after." 

"Do  you  think  she  would  tell  me  ?" 

"Lord  knows,"  said  the  scholar,  with  a  humorous 
eye ;  "I  never  do !" 

"She  told  you."  He  was  making  assumptions  as 
fast  as  he  could  find  them,  and  every  time  Rader 
transformed  them  into  facts. 

"That  is  different.  She  tells  me  everything  be- 
cause I  don't  care.  What  would  an  old  fellow  like 
me  care  ?  She  might  just  as  well  go  whisper  it  to  one 
of  those  stone  heads  on  the  mountain  up  yonder." 

Carron  restrained  a  smile  at  the  scholar's  idea  of 
what  a  tight  vessel  he  was  for  a  secret.  "She  told 
Ferrier,"  he  urged. 

"Did  she  say  that?" 

"No;  you  did." 

98 


IMPROBABILITIES 

"I  did?"  Rader  looked  distressed.  "I  haven't  said 
anything!" 

Carron  realized  his  slip,  but  there  was  nothing 
now  for  it  but  to  brazen  the  thing  out.  "Not  in  so 
many  words.  But  you  did  say  last  night,  don't  you 
remember?  that  Ferrier  hadn't  given  away  your 
confidence.  From  which  I  inferred  that  he  had  given 
away  some  one  else's ;  from  which  I  now  infer  that 
he  had  given  away  Miss  Rader's,  and  therefore  that 
she  must  have  told  him  something  in  the  first  place — 
you  see?" 

"Lord,"  said  Rader,  "you  infer  a  good  deal,  don't 
you?"  Both  of  them  were  at  broad  grin,  but  the 
scholar's  was  a  little  sheepish.  "I  did  let  go  of  it 
there,  didn't  I?"  he  admitted.  He  mused.  "All 
the  same,  I  don't  think  she  told  Bert  Ferrier  about 
it."  He  turned,  and  looked  thoughtfully  down  into 
the  dark  mouth  of  the  well  as  if  he  hoped  to  see 
truth  lurking  in  it.  Then,  putting  his  pipe  back  in 
his  mouth  and  getting  gradually  into  his  long  slip- 
shod stride,  he  began  to  saunter  away  across  the 
clearing  toward  the  trees,  following  the  direction  his 
daughter  had  taken  a  little  while  before. 

Carron  caught  step  with  him.  He  was  afraid  by 
that  unlucky  remark  of  his  that  he  had  startled  his 
man  to  caution ;  and  indeed,  striding  on  through  sun 
and  shadow,  Rader  kept  silence  for  some  minutes. 

99 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

Yet  he  had  not  so  much  the  air  of  a  person  mum 
as  of  one  musing,  and  turning  over  a  question. 
Carron  could  see  it  ruminating  in  his  eyes,  and  ex- 
pressed in  the  fluctuating  cloud  of  his  pipe  as  they 
climbed  the  ascent  among  the  pines,  startling  the 
blue  wings  of  birds  into  flight  among  the  branches. 
Noon  was  in  the  air,  the  languor  of  it.  They  dipped 
into  a  little  depression,  began  another  more  gradual 
rise,  and  presently  sighted  the  line  of  the  hotel  roof ; 
a  little  higher,  glimpses  of  windows  came  into  view 
between  the  trunks  of  trees ;  and,  last,  a  long  white- 
washed covered  passage,  with  a  little  round  room 
at  the  end  of  it,  extending  from  the  back  of  the 
house.  It  projected  into  the  pines  like  a  promontory 
into  the  sea,  and  they,  the  incoming  craft,  voyaging 
toward  it.  Carron  recognized  this  must  be  the  schol- 
ar's study.  A  piazza  was  in  front  of  it,  evidently  but 
the  continuation  of  the  broadei*  one  that  clung  all 
around  the  house.  Three  wooden  steps  led  up  to  it. 
At  the  foot  of  these  Rader  paused.  He  leaned  back 
against  the  rail  and  spoke  as  if  no  silence  had  inter- 
vened. 

"It  wouldn't  have  been  like  her  to  tell  him,"  he 
said  argumentatively.  "She's  too  close-mouthed, 
and,  besides — "  he  mused  and  puffed — "not  that  his 
knowing  would  matter  any  more  than  mine,"  he 
took  up  another  sentence.  "He's  nothing  of  a  rider. 

100 


IMPROBABILITIES 

He  wouldn't  want  the  horse  himself.  She's  been 
sure  enough  that  he  would  never  take  it  away  from 
her." 

The  way  he  put  it  struck  coldly  on  Carron's  ex- 
pectant nerves.  He  heard  in  it  the  explanation  of  the 
whole  mysterious  business — the  explanation,  and 
that  always  meant  the  descent  from  the  high  idea  to 
the  reasonable  and  the  ordinary.  There  was  a  horse, 
oh,  no  doubt !  He  could  believe  that  now ;  but  it  was 
not  the  thing  it  had  been  represented.  It  was  not  his 
leader  of  herds,  Son  of  the  Wind,  but  a  creature  less 
than  marvelous,  already  touched  by  the  hand  of  man. 
He  looked  the  possibility  in  the  face.  Over  the  ruin 
of  his  crazy  expectations  he  could  smile  at  it.  "Then 
the  horse  isn't  afraid  of  her?" 

Rader  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  "Isn't 
afraid?  Why,  bless  my  soul,  it's  as  wild  as  the 
wind." 

"As  wild  as  the  wind !"  The  mere  sound  of  the 
words  in  his  ears  was  delight.  "And  she  can't  even 
come  near  it?" 

,  "Bless  my  soul,"  said  Rader  again,  "it's  never 
even  seen  her.  She  has  been  very  careful  about 
that." 

"But  how  does  she  see  it?  Where?"  He  was  all 
a-wonder. 

"Ask  her — ask  her!"  Rader  insisted. 
101 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

"And  suppose  she  won't  answer?" 

Rader  shrugged,  as  who  would  say,  "Then,  that 
will  be  the  end  of  it." 

The  young  man  laughed.  The  thing  would  not 
end  as  simply  as  all  that.  If  Blanche  Rader  would 
not  speak —  His  conjecture  didn't  get  further,  for 
he  believed  that  she  would.  Rader  was  looking  at 
him  expectantly,  as  if  he  thought  to  see  the  question 
put  to  test  on  the  instant.  And  why  not  ?  Now  was 
a  better  time  than  any;  and  the  scholar's  eye,  quiz- 
zical, hinting  that  perhaps  the  undertaking  was  a 
daunting  one,  put  him  on  his  mettle.  He  pulled  his 
hat  over  his  nose,  ran  up  the  steps,  and  turning  to  the 
right,  walked  quickly  down  the  side  piazza. 

For  an  interval  there  was  wall,  without  opening ; 
and  then  began  a  series  of  low-set  square  win- 
dows, which  "Janfer,"  in  his  celebrated  "Folly," 
had  ornamented  with  wooden  cornices  of  acanthus. 
He  passed  the  first,  since  it  was  covered  with  a  cur- 
tain, the  curtains  to  the  second  were  drawn  back, 
and  from  within  he  heard  a  sound  like  a  large  and 
much  occupied  bee.  Broad  noon  made  it  hard  to  look 
into  the  house,  but  by  stepping  back  to  the  railing, 
holding  his  hand  over  his  eyes  and  tipping  his  head, 
he  was  able  to  see  the  room.  The  greater  part  of  it 
was  in  shadow.  Mrs.  Rader's  figure  was  barely  dis- 
tinguishable, back  toward  him,  stooping  above  a  ta- 

102 


IMPROBABILITIES 

ble,  and,  like  the  clipping  "Fate,"  with  shears  in  her 
hand,  but  drawn  near  to  the  window  and  the  light 
was  a  sewing-machine  over  which  flowed  a  cascade 
of  stuff,  heavy  and  white ;  and  moving  this  through 
the  machine,  manipulating  it  delicately,  Blanche  Ra- 
der  sat.  Her  head  was  bent.  He  saw  the  greater 
mass  of  her  hair  like  a  shadow,  the  light  on  her  fore- 
head, and  the  long,  dim  line  of  her  throat  as  she 
leaned  sidewise.  She  was  very  intent,  seeing  no  one, 
all  her  wits  apparently  stitching  into  that  sewing. 
He  smiled.  Anything  more  gentle,  and  accessible, 
one  could  not  imagine.  But  the  figure  in  the  back- 
ground made  him  wary.  He  had  had  an  impression 
of  it  as  an  interfering  element.  He  reached  in  his 
pocket  and  found  a  scrap  of  paper  and  a  pencil.  Rest- 
ing this  on  his  address-book  he  wrote,  "Eight-thirty 
A.  M.  to-morrow,  horseback.  Will  you  ?" 

He  went  up  to  the  window,  pressed  the  card 
against  the  glass  and  drummed  his  fingers  softly  on 
the  pane. 

The  machine  stopped,  ran  back  a  little  way.  She 
looked  up  quickly,  and  though  he  must  have  been  but 
a  black  figure  against  daylight  to  her,  he  saw  she  rec- 
ognized him  immediately ;  then  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
white  paper.  She  was  a  while  about  it.  He  could  not 
tell  whether  she  was  re-reading  his  message  to  get 
a  better  understanding  of  it,  or  whether  she  was 

103 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

merely  considering  it  as  a  proposition.  At  last  she 
looked  at  him.  Eyes  and  lips  smiled  with  pleasure. 
She  nodded.  Then,  bending  forward  again  and 
reaching  into  the  intricacies  around  the  needle,  she 
disentangled  the  long  thread,  and  resumed  her  seam, 
as  if  nothing  had  shadowed  in  the  window  to  snap 
it,  or  to  put  a  fresh  thought  in  her  mind. 


104 


CHAPTER   VI 

WILD  THINGS   AND   TAME 

A  SIGNAL  and  a  smile  through  the  window.  They 
./""Xhad  taken  few  words  to  understand  each  other, 
he  thought.  The  promise  of  a  morning  among  the 
hills  with  this  responsive  girl  whetted  anticipation 
sharp.  The  way  his  adventure  led  was  going  to  be 
pleasant  and  very  easy,  the  merest  short-cut.  If  only 
he  did  not  feel  so  deadly  uncertain  that  there  was 
anything  at  the  end  of  it !  He  tried  to  make  himself 
believe  that  what  she  had  seen  was  indeed  the  thing 
he  wanted ;  but  he  doubted  that  women  saw  things  as 
they  were.  He  knew  he  himself  desired  the  perfect 
material  object ;  that  he  was  sensitive  to  every  failure 
of  what  he  saw  to  fulfil  this,  recognizing  defect  and 
perfection  and  calling  them  by  name.  But  he  sus- 
pected that  around  any  sort  of  object  a  woman  could 
fold  her  imagination  and  transform  it  to  herself.  He 
had  seen  miserable  figures  of  men  thus  translated, 
and  how  would  it  be  in  the  lesser  matter  of  a  horse? 
Those  large  imaginative  eyes  of  hers  looked  very 
ready  to  believe  wonders.  No  doubt  they  were 

105 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

starved  for  things  wonderful,  the  thrill  given  to  the 
nerves  by  the  sight  of  unwonted  beauty  or  strength 
— all  the  quicker  to  be  credulous  because  of  that. 
Had  she  seen  a  plow  pony  by  moonlight  ?  He  smiled 
to  think  of  her  as  she  would  be  with  her  bright  in- 
tensity leading  him  to  the  place  where  she  had  seen 
her  vision,  some  place  of  water,  no  doubt,  where  the 
creature,  whatever  it  was,  came  to  drink,  where 
sooner  or  later — perhaps  to-morrow,  perhaps  the 
day  after — he  would  see  it. 

The  nearness  of  discovery  made  him  restless.  It 
would  be  hard  to  close  his  eyes  before  they  had  held 
that  revelation.  His  sleep  that  night  was  thin,  a  veil 
across  his  consciousness.  It  dissolved  with  dawn, 
and  he  wondered  whether  they  might  not  make  an 
earlier  start  than  half -past  eight. 

Getting  away  for  a  morning's  ride  seemed  a  sim- 
ple business.  As  far  as  himself  was  concerned,  the 
preliminaries  were  something  to  eat  and  saddling. 
But,  for  the  girl,  it  appeared  they  were  far  more 
complicated,  involving  a  multitude  of  employments 
and  errands  around  and  in  and  out  of  the  house. 
As  early  as  half-past  six,  when  he  first  got  up, 
looking  through  his  curtain  he  saw  her  in  the  pale 
ruddy  light,  already  intent  with  haste,  a  long 
lock  of  hair  falling  across  her  cheek,  laying  out 
mattresses  and  pillows  to  air  on  the  ground. 

1 06 


WILD    THINGS    AND    TAME 

Later,  hurrying  down  the  outside  stair  with  the 
thought  of  helping  her  at  this  task  for  which  her 
back  looked  too  slender,  he  found  himself  alone  in 
a  dead  sea  of  ticking.  The  windows  of  the  scholar's 
study  were  open,  and  through  them  he  heard  the 
sound  of  a  hummed  song,  and  saw  her  figure  moving 
to  and  fro.  Later  yet,  on  his  way  through  the  hall, 
he  glimpsed  her  in  a  room,  sweeping  vigorously, 
the  center  of  a  haze  of  dust  which  the  new  sun 
transformed  to  a  golden  vapor. 

"You  haven't  forgotten,  have  you?"  he  asked 
looking  in  the  door. 

She  formed  "No,"  with  her  mouth  through  the 
thick,  bright,  floating  atmosphere.  She  had  this  to 
do  first,  she  explained,  and  advised  him  that  break- 
fast was  on  table.  She  came  into  the  dining-room 
herself  presently,  stayed  long  enough  to  drink  some 
coffee  and  find  the  scholar's  pipe  for  him,  then  was 
away.  Carron  heard  the  rattling  of  tins  in  the 
kitchen  as  if  the  preliminaries  of  dish-washing  were 
hers.  With  verve  and  incredible  despatch  she  seemed 
to  be  crowding  her  responsibilities  for  the  day  into 
an  hour  and  a  half,  and  only  for  the  sake  of  a  morn- 
ing at  liberty  among  the  hills. 

He  saddled  the  two  horses,  putting  the  side-saddle 
on  the  chestnut,  and  brought  them  around  to  the 
steps  of  the  old  wing.  He  hoped  to  find  Blanche 

107 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

Rader  waiting  there  for  him,  but,  as  he  rode  up,  he 
saw  her  standing  on  the  side  piazza  talking  to  the 
boy  George. 

This  individual  started  up  to  sight  and  memory 
like  a  gnome.  He  was  standing  close  to  the  girl.  She 
had  hold  of  a  button  of  his  coat,  establishing  that 
communication  of  touch  which  seemed  necessary  to 
get  his  understanding,  and  the  creature  was  looking 
up  at  her  with  eyes  like  a  dog's.  It  set  Carron's 
teeth  on  edge  to  see  them  thus.  She  was  talking  with 
him,  not  as  Mrs.  'Rader  had,  but  conversationally, 
with  a  sweet  familiar  vivacity.  She  gesticulated, 
seeming  to  employ  the  sign  language  as  well  as  the 
language  of  words,  finally  waved  her  hands  toward 
the  drive  and  the  trees,  like  Ariel  dismissing  some 
undersized,  unassuming  Caliban.  He  moved  off 
down  the  steps,  dragging  his  feet.  She  turned,  saw 
Carron,  nodded  promisingly  and  ran  in  at  the  door. 

He  waited,  fretting  hotter  than  the  chestnut.  The 
whole  front  of  the  house  seemed  to  have  fallen 
asleep.  But,  from  the  back,  presently  he  thought  he 
heard  voices.  He  thought  they  came  from  the  other 
side  of  the  door  which  closed  the  inner  end  of  the 
front  hall.  He  was  not  listening.  The  talking  reached 
him  as  impersonally  as  the  running  of  water  or  the 
flowing  of  wind;  but,  as  it  continued,  wearing  in 
on  his  consciousness,  the  sound  of  it  grew  on 

1 08 


WILD    THINGS   AND   TAME 

his  ears  as  an  argument.  He  sensed  discordances  in 
it.  He  fancied  long  questions  and  short  answers. 
He  got  out  of  saddle  and  stood  restively,  every  mo- 
ment glancing  behind  him.  It  was  monstrous  to 
take  time  for  discussion  of  domestic  problems  now 
with  the  golden  point  of  the  morning  already  turn- 
ing pale. 

At  last  the  door  at  the  end  of  the  hall  opened  and 
let  through  immediate  and  near  the  sound  of  Mrs. 
Rader's  voice.  Blanche  Rader  was  coming  out,  her 
hat  pulled  hard  on  her  head  and  drawing  on  her 
gauntlets.  But  her  mother  had  followed  her,  was 
still  speaking  to  her,  and  had  made  her  pause  to 
listen  by  the  natural  expedient  of  clasping  a  hand 
around  her  daughter's  arm.  Held,  arrested,  the  girl 
stood,  still  fronted  for  the  door,  but  with  head  flung 
back,  to  give  her  mother  an  ear.  Mrs.  Rader  was 
arguing.  The  girl  listened  perforce.  Her  expres- 
sion was  icy  obstinacy,  disclaiming  everything  said 
before  it  was  heard.  She  made  an  inaudible,  rapid 
answer,  freed  herself  with  the  impetuous  motion  of  a 
colt  breaking  through  a  fence,  and  came  on  toward 
him.  A  little  of  the  fretted,  haughty  look  which  the 
interruption  had  brought  stayed  like  a  blush  upon 
her  face  and  darkened  in  her  eyes,  giving  her  a  mo- 
mentary beauty. 

"Headstrong,  touchy  little  devil,"  he  thought, 
109 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

fancying  her  for  the  qualities  he  deplored.  She 
stood  in  the  doorway,  this  time  with  leggings  cov- 
ering her  slender  ankles,  her  old  brown  skirt  aswing 
to  her  light  motion,  youth  on  tiptoe,  inquisitive  and 
filled  with  the  conviction  that  life  is  joy.  She  had 
ruthlessly  turned  her  back  on  her  mother  and  had 
approached  the  stranger  confidently,  as  if  from  him 
she  expected  all  pleasant  happy  things. 

"Am  I  to  ride  the  pretty  one  ?"  she  asked. 

"She's  yours,  but  look  out  for  her.  She  hates  the 
side-saddle.  Why  do  you  use  such  an  antiquated 
piece  of  furniture?" 

"I  always  have ;  I've  had  it  since  I  was  a  little  girl. 
Besides,  I  like  it  better."  She  slipped  nimbly  into 
her  place.  "All  right,"  she  said. 

He  released  the  bridle,  and  immediately  the  chest- 
nut was  half-way  across  the  loop  of  the  drive.  He 
watched  a  moment  to  make  sure  that  she  was  equal 
to  the  mare's  dancings  and  side-glidings;  then 
turned,  and  looked  over  his  shoulder  at  the  woman 
standing  in  the  dark  end  of  the  hall.  "It's  all  right," 
•  he  said ;  "the  mare  is  perfectly  safe.  I  broke  her  my- 
self." 

Mrs.  Rader  looked  at  him  with  a  dumb  anxiety. 
Her  smile,  assumed  as  if  by  main  force,  from  the 
conviction  that  she  must,  intensified  the  unconscious 
appeal  she  fixed  on  him. 

no 


WILD   THINGS   AND   TAME 

"I'll  bring  her  back  safe  and  sound!"  he  declared 
cheerfully,  putting  toe  in  the  stirrup.  "Queer  thing," 
he  thought  as  the  mustang,  with  quick  little  feet, 
carried  him  abreast  the  mare's  limber  stride.  He 
looked  critically  at  his  companion.  She  had  coerced 
the  chestnut  from  curves  and  gambits  into  a  for- 
ward and  sufficiently  rhythmical  motion,  and  was  so 
occupied  with  the  continuance  of  this  that  she  did 
not  feel  the  scrutiny.  She  had  the  body  of  the  rider, 
supple  back,  thinking  hands  and  wiry  thighs.  He 
thought  he  recognized  in  her  the  rider's  mind,  in- 
tuition before  thought,  and  a  sublime  confidence. 
"Your  mother  ought  to  have  faith  in  your  horse- 
manship," he  remarked. 

"Why,  but  she  does!  what  makes  you  think  she 
doesn't?"  The  question  was  shot  at  him  with  sur- 
prise. 

"She  seemed  so  mighty  anxious  when  you  came 
out,  and  afterward  when  we  went  off  together  I  got 
the  idea  she  was  afraid  of  something." 

"Oh,"  said  Blanche  Rader,  "oh,  I  see !"  and  began 
laughing.  "Perhaps  it  was  on  account  of  having  a 
strange  horse,"  she  suggested,  and  looked  at  him 
with  bright  eyes  of  amusement. 

He  felt  sulky.  He  could  stand  being  laughed  at, 
but  to  be  surveyed  as  if  his  appearance  somehow  had 
a  part  in  the  joke  was  irritating. 

in 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

"I  feel  very  frivolous  this  morning,"  she  ex- 
plained. "There  is  nothing  really  to  laugh  at.  It  is 
only  that  mother  thought  I  ought  not  to  run  off  for 
a  whole  half  day,  and  leave  everything  on  her  shoul- 
ders." 

Carron  understood  that  this  did  not  fully  account 
for  Mrs.  Rader's  expression,  but  if  the  girl  wanted 
to  offer  it  as  an  explanation  he  could  take  it  as  such. 
"She  expects  you  to  have  some  time  off,  doesn't 
she  ?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,  and  of  course  I  do."  She  was  silent 
for  a  moment,  manceuvering  the  chestnut  between 
the  white  gate-posts — "but  now,  when  we  are  so 
busy  with  the  house,  it  is  hard.  We  have  to  do 
everything  ourselves.  There  is  only  George  to  help, 
and  when  I  am  away  he  doesn't  help  so  very  well." 

"Doesn't  understand  much  of  anything  that  is  said 
to  him,  does  he?"  Carron  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,  he  understands  a  great  deal,  a  great  deal 
more  than  any  one  supposes.  But  if  he  doesn't  want 
to  do  a  thing  he  seems  not  to  know  anything ;  or  else 
he  hides.  He  has  a  little  burrow  down  below  the 
barn,  and  he  goes  into  it  like  a  rabbit.  Lots  of  times 
I've  pulled  him  out  of  it.  He's  very  sharp."  She 
bent  her  head  broodingly,  and  light  and  shadow  flut- 
tered in  an  unending  procession  of  curious  little 
shapes  across  her  face.  "It's  hard  to  tell  sometimes 

112 


WILD   THINGS   AND   TAME 

just  where  his  understanding  begins  and  ends,"  she 
said.  "Mother  tries  to  reason  with  him,  but  you  can't 
reason  with  George.  He  hasn't  any.  You  have  to 
persuade  him  to  do  things." 

"I  suppose  he'll  do  anything  for  you?" 

"He'll  do  more  for  me  than  for  any  one  else ;  but 
that  is  only  because  he  feels  that  we  are  friends,  and 
then  I  take  more  time  with  him.  I  spent  twenty  min- 
utes this  morning  persuading  him  to  scrub  down  the 
stairs.  I  couldn't  have  come  if  he  hadn't,  but  I  felt 
wicked  to  do  it.  Poor  George  hates  housework  as 
much  as  I  do!" 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  compare  yourself  to  that 
half-witted  lump." 

"Why?" 

"He's  hideous." 

"Is  he  ?"  She  seemed  to  meditate  the  matter.  "I 
know,  of  course,  that  he  is  different  from  us,  but  I 
know  him  so  well,  and  when  you  do  you  don't  notice 
people's  faces — that  is,  you  don't  notice  them  if  they 
are  not  pretty." 

"No  doubt,"  Carron  said  grudgingly.  "Beauty 
being  only  skin  deep,  and  all  that,  I  suppose  is  all 
very  beautiful,  but  I  feel  uncomfortable  every  time 
that  boy  comes  near  me — or  you." 

"How  queer  that  is !  I  don't  mind  a  bit.  I  suppose 
it's  because  I'm  not  reasonable." 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

Carron  looked  at  her.  The  horses  were  moving 
slowly  side  by  side,  and  the  flicker  above  their  heads 
had  become  a  warm  and  constant  shadow  of 
branches  which  let  through  the  influence  of  the  sun 
without  its  positive  light.  It  was  thus  her  face  should 
be  seen,  he  thought,  under  translucent  shades  of 
leaves,  where  her  skin  looked  paler  and  more  per- 
fect, and  her  eyes  darker.  "Of  course,  you  are  not 
reasonable,"  he  affirmed.  "I  hope  you  are  not  even 
sensible.  I've  enough  sense  and  reason  myself  to 
keep  me  bored  for  the  rest  of  my  life." 

This  thrust  at  her  weaknesses,  far  from  antago- 
nizing her,  seemed  to  please  her  to  the  edge  of  laugh- 
ter. "What  do  you  expect  me  to  supply  ?"  she  asked, 
"the  madness  ?" 

"Yes,  and  the  zest.  Which  way  are  you  going  to 
take  me  to-day?" 

"Which  way  do  you  want  to  go  ?" 

There  was  no  hesitation  in  Carron's  mind.  He 
felt  himself  invited  to  his  fate.  "How  about  getting 
into  the  mountains?" 

"Half  a  day,"  she  mused.  "It  isn't  enough  time 
for  them,  but  we  can  go  toward  them.  We  can  get 
into  the  hills." 

The  horses  quickened  pace  as  the  road  drew  down- 
ward, carrying  them  into  the  chilly  shadow,  with  no 
sun  behind  it,  that  still  covered  the  gulch.  The  smell 

114 


WILD    THINGS    AND    TAME 

of  earth  before  sunrise  was  here,  making  them 
shiver  and  hurry.  They  turned  into  the  main  road, 
not  retracing  the  way  Carron  had  ridden  two  days 
before,  but  to  the  left,  continuing  along  a  grade  that 
followed  the  course  of  the  creek  bed  for  a  little, 
and  then  climbed  higher,  left  the  empty  stream  be- 
hind, and  lifted  them  into  the  joy  of  open  spaces 
and  full  sun.  With  the  horses  at  hard  trot,  now 
drawn  apart,  now  side  by  side,  each  wild  with  a  de- 
sire to  outstrip  the  other,  the  communication  of  the 
riders  was  no  longer  by  words,  but  by  com- 
munity of  looks,  and  in  mutual  sensation,  feeling 
the  same  rhythm  of  motion,  seeing  the  same  shad- 
ows running  toward  them  and  flitting  backward, 
with  expanded  nostrils  taking  in  the  same  dry,  pure 
air,  and  facing  together  the  bright  north.  The  sky 
was  the  color  of  pale  turquoise  and  promised  heat, 
but  the  sun  still  struck  yellowly  from  the  east,  and 
where  for  a  little  way  trees  closed  in  about  the  road 
a  chill  lay  in  the  shadow.  They  descended  into  shal- 
low hollows ;  they  breasted  the  baldish  tops  of  long 
waves  of  land,  each  seeming  to  lift  them  a  little 
higher  than  the  last.  On  the  left  they  saw  flitting 
glimpses,  now  of  a  bit  of  blue  sky-line,  now  the  pale 
brown  glimmer  of  a  valley;  on  the  right  a  rougher 
country,  of  forest ;  and  beyond,  the  sharp,  high  heads 
of  the  chain  of  sugar-loafs,  which  marked  the  course 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

of  the  canon,  were  constant  against  the  sky.  Some- 
times, with  a  wave  of  the  arm  toward  them,  she 
pointed  out  a  peak,  a  tree,  or  a  contortion  of  stone 
giving  them  their  names.  "There  is  Mount  Wendel ! 
That  is  Barney's  Sword  over  there!  That  is  the 
Witches'  Well !"  But  she  did  not  cry  out  upon  their 
beauty  or  strangeness,  nor  call  upon  him  to  admire, 
any  more  than  she  would  have  remarked  upon  the 
appearance  of  friends  she  was  introducing  to  him. 
She  only  looked  at  these  things,  and  seemed  to  be- 
come more  informed  with  their  beauty,  and  more 
happy.  She  put  back  her  hat,  and  the  wind  loosened 
the  short  locks  of  her  hair.  Her  riding-skirt  fluttered 
like  a  little  flag. 

Upon  the  curtain  of  the  male  landscape,  sculptural, 
angular,  definite,  whose  subtleties  were  of  mass,  and 
the  relation  of  mass,  so  large  they  escaped  the  eye, 
she,  with  her  flowing  lines,  and  the  curl  of  her  body 
in  the  side-saddle,  looked  like  a  small  runaway  wisp. 
To  see  her  now  he  could  not  believe  that  she  had 
ever  rattled  dishes  in  a  pan,  or  bound  a  dusting- 
cap  around  her  head.  She  had  changed  like  the 
dryad  escaped  from  her  tree,  and  the  farther  they 
entered  into  the  wilderness  of  hills,  the  more  wildly 
she  seemed  to  enter  into  the  mood  of  motion.  They 
raced  on  the  level,  and  around  the  sharp  lips  of 
declivities,  the  chestnut — the  swifter — forging 

116 


WILD    THINGS   AND   TAME 

steadily  to  the  front,  until  what  Carron  saw  of  his 
companion,  was  a  view  of  back-thrown  shoulders, 
the  back  of  a  head,  and  flying  horse's  hoofs.  So  she 
drew  ahead  of  him,  dropping  down  into  the  shallow 
valley,  and  took  the  rise  at  an  increasing  speed. 

He  had  had  the  feeling  she  was  getting  beyond 
him  and  away  from  him,  and  now  he  began  to  fear 
the  mare  was  getting  away  from  her.  He  noted  this 
anxiously.  It  was  useless  to  hope  to  catch  up  with 
her  now.  He  rose  in  his  stirrups  and  shouted  her 
name,  at  the  same  time  thinking  that  he  might  as 
well  call  to  a  bird.  The  brow  of  the  hill  was  bare 
and  sharp  where  the  road  curved  over,  and  he  saw 
the  little  figures  of  horse  and  woman  poised  there 
as  if  about  to  launch  forth  and  take  flight  into  the 
pale  blue  sky. 

Flight  was  the  illusion.  They  were  stopping.  He 
could  see  the  rocking  motion  in  the  mare's  head  and 
shoulders  as  she  came  down  in  her  pace.  He  saw 
they  were  turning  and  finally  had  stopped  just  upon 
the  summit.  There  they  stood,  waiting  for  him.  The 
girl  was  shading  her  eyes  w;th  her  hand.  "What  do 
you  want  ?"  she  called. 

"To  keep  you  from  breaking  your  neck!"  Her 
docility  in  halting  at  a  word  from  him  astonished 
him,  but  he  was  rather  indignant  at  her  coolness.  "If 

117 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

you  had  let  her  keep  that  gait  she  would  have  been 
past  handling,"  he  said  as  he  rode  up. 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  so." 

"I  do,"  saicl  the  horse-breaker  with  the  air  of 
concluding  an  argument. 

She  seemed  quite  unimpressed.  "Anyway,  we 
got  up  the  hill  quickly.  See  over  there,  that's  where 
we're  going." 

Their  way,  which  had  carried  them  upward  over 
long  undulations  of  land,  had  finally  led  them  out  on 
the  backbone  of  a  watershed.  He  looked  around 
the  circle  of  the  landscape,  over  hills  and  tops  of 
trees.  His  glance  followed  where  her  finger  pointed 
down  the  road,  indefinitely  descending  in  front  of 
them,  bending  a  little  toward  the  left  through  a  blind 
and  lumpish-looking  country.  It  had  an  appear- 
ance of  having  been  sandpapered  off  with  no  edges 
left,  nor  characteristic  excrescences  in  sight,  nothing 
to  catch  the  eye.  He  looked  to  the  right.  There  lay 
the  thing  worth  seeing,  the  line  of  eminences,  the 
outriders  of  the  canon,  visible  now  from  heel  to 
head.  They  were  so  near  that  he  could  count  the 
trees  on  their  sides  and  note  the  varying  yellows 
of  the  earth.  They  made  a  wall,  their  feet  in  cairns 
of  stone,  their  shoulders  interlocked,  only  their 
crests — turret-like,  steeple-like,  cap-like — appearing 
separate  on  the  sky.  Each  succeeding  group  seemed 

118 


WILD    THINGS    AND   TAME 

a  little  higher,  a  little  more  pronounced  and  dramatic 
in  form,  until  the  two  just  opposite  the  watershed 
appeared  the  commanders  of  the  column. 

One  showed  an  almost  perpendicular  cliff,  a  water- 
fall of  rock;  the  other  was  but  half  its  height,  a 
slide  of  earth,  topped  by  a  collar  of  sandstone,  which 
in  turn  was  crowned  by  a  shape  of  rock  like  a  great 
head.  Helmet-like  pieces  clung  on  either  side,  and 
though  there  was  nothing  so  grotesque  as  a  projec- 
tion upon  its  front  to  suggest  any  feature,  neverthe- 
less the  smooth  great  face  wore  an  expression 
implacable  and  mysterious  as  that  of  the  sphinx. 
.Wherein  it  lurked — a  scarcely  discernible  beetling 
hinting  at  a  forehead,  a  modeling  that  might  have 
been  a  cheek,  a  floating  shadow  like  a  faint  evan- 
escent smile — was  impossible  to  say.  He  discerned, 
but  could  not  detect  it. 

Yet  it  was  neither  this  head  nor  its  neighbor  which 
most  struck  his  attention,  but  the  thing  which,  to- 
gether, they  made.  For  one  point  of  the  helmet, 
thrusting  out,  overlapped  the  waterfall  of  stone. 
From  there  the  side  of  the  face  cut  under  and  away 
from  it  into  the  sharp  hollow  of  the  neck,  and  swell- 
ing again  into  the  projecting  collar,  made  thus  a 
little  window  through  which  shone  the  strange  blue 
jewel  of  the  distance.  He  looked  upon  white 
lights  and  shadows,  and  lines  of  summits  half  seen 

119 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

and  half  imagined  by  the  eye.  In  the  setting  of 
the  solid  wall  it  appeared  a  hundred  times  more 
bright  and  marvelous  than  with  the  graduated  lines 
of  distance  between,  nearer,  yet  more  improbable. 

"What  is  the  name  of  that?"  he  said. 

"What?  where?"  She  looked  in  all  directions 
but  the  right  one. 

It  seemed  odd  that  she,  who  had  pointed  out  so 
many  objects  less  remarkable,  should  not  be  on  fa- 
miliar terms  with  this  one,  and  look  instinctively  in 
the  right  direction.  "There,"  he  said. 

Her  head  came  around  very  slowly  toward  the 
thing  he  indicated.  "Oh!"  her  glance  rested  upon 
it  for  a  moment.  "You  mean  that  gap?  It  hasn't 
any  name." 

"It  looks  as  if  it  had,"  Carron  insisted. 

"Oh,  there  are  lots  of  gaps,"  she  said  vaguely. 

"But  this  one  seems  to  lead  direct  into  the  heart  of 
the  mountains." 

"No,  it  is  much  farther  than  you  think." 

"Couldn't  we  get  through?" 

"I  am  afraid  it  is  impossible." 

"Have  you  ever  tried?" 

She  turned  around  upon  him  with  a  smile.  "Do 
you  want  me  to  take  your  good  mare  and  jump 
through  ?" 

It  was  a  pretty  little  vision  that  brought  up,  a 
1 20 


WILD    THINGS   AND   TAME 

piece  out  of  a  fairy  tale.  "No,  you've  done  all  the 
equestrienne  feats  you  are  going  to  do  this  morn- 
ing," he  declared,  and  let  her  lead  him  away. 

He  let  her  lead  him  from  the  subject  as  well  as 
'from  the  sight.  It  was  not  the  time  to  press  ques- 
tions now,  while  they  were  borne  along  in  the  bright 
tide  of  action,  their  attention  scattered,  their  minds 
lulled,  their  eyes  satisfied  with  the  sight  of  each 
other,  as  pictures — the  sense  of  each  other  as  per- 
sons, as  magnets,  cut  off  by  the  stream  of  the 
wind.  It  needed  inaction,  a  sitting  side  by  side  look- 
ing over  one  constant  piece  of  landscape,  idle  hands, 
broken  talk,  drifting  into  personal  questions  to  set 
them  venturing  into  the  dangerous  debatable  land, 
the  exchange  of  ideas  which  sometimes  brings  such 
amazing  confidences.  He  began  to  spy  about  for 
some  temporary  stopping-place.  The  watershed 
was  already  grown  tall  behind  them,  and  they 
were  winding  endlessly  in  and  out  among  a  brown 
tumble  of  hills.  These  looked  like  the  young  chil- 
dren of  the  mountains,  crowned  with  unformed  out- 
croppings  of  stone.  Their  growth  of  pine  was  scant 
and  immature.  The  sun  beat  dazzlingly  through  it. 
He  looked  up  wishfully  at  their  little  rocky  crowns. 

"Aren't  you  tired?"  he  asked  the  girl. 

"I  could  keep  on  all  day,"  she  said. 

"So  could  I,  but  I  would  so  much  rather  sit  on 
121 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

not  so  easy.  But  some  are  almost  impossible  to 
watch  without  their  knowing — the  larger  animals, 
the  ones  that  sniff  you.  Yet,  if  ever  you  can,  when 
you  can,  though  it's  only  for  a  moment,  seeing  them 
is  the  most  wonderful  thing  in  the  world.  It  makes 
your  heart  beat.  It's  like  seeing  a  spirit." 

Carron  lay  for  a  moment  without  speaking,  study- 
ing her  face.  "Did  it  never  occur  to  you,  when  you 
are  looking  at  such  animals,  that  it  would  be  even 
more  wonderful  to  catch  them?" 

"No.  I  would  rather  see  them  killed  than  caught." 

She  blushed  for  the  vehemence  with  which  she 
had  spoken. 

Carron  bit  his  lip.  "My  dear  young  friend,  do 
you  think  that  is  quite  sensible?" 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  don't.  But  I  don't  think  it  is 
sensible  either  to  want  always  to  catch  things  and 
break  them."  A  word  had  slipped  out  that  showed 
too  plainly  of  what  she  was  thinking,  what  vision 
was  continually  before  her  eyes. 

He  curbed  his  tongue.  For  the  world  he  would 
not  have  startled  her  out  of  her  unconsciousness. 

"Men  are  always  shooting  things,  or  taming  them, 
or  controlling  them,"  she  went  on,  vivid  with  argu- 
ment, "and  they  always  say  they  do  it  because  it's 
reasonable.  But  I  don't  believe  it  is  reasonableness 
that  makes  them  do  it.  It  is  just  a  very  strong, 

132 


WILD   THINGS    AND   TAME 

blind  sort  of  feeling.  They  want  to  and  so  they 
will!" 

He  kept  on  smiling  for  quite  a  long  minute,  be- 
cause he  was  too  irritated  to  venture  speech. 

"So,  you  think  I  am  unreasonable?"  he  said  at 
last.  That  had  been  the  thorn  which  had  pricked 
him  so  deep. 

"Oh,  not  you !"  Her  eyes  shone  upon  him  all  their 
surprise  that  he  could  have  made  such  a  stupid 
blunder.  "I  only  meant  men  in  general.  You 
are — "  she  hung  on  the  pronouncement  of  his  sen- 
tence, then  let  it  fall  with  intense  gravity — "you  are 
different." 

Every  woman  who  had  known  him  had  probably 
passed  the  same  sentence  on  him,  but  now  for  the 
first  time  he  really  heard  it,  and  at  the  touching 
confidence  felt  his  ears  grow  hot.  His  pulse  too 
was  perhaps  a  little  warmer.  "I  broke  in  my  mare 
myself,"  he  told  her  warningly. 

"You  must  think  me  a  fanatic.  I  have  never  seen 
a,  horse  broken,  and  I  never  will  if  I  can  help  it; 
but,  of  course,  horses  bred  on  ranches  have  to  be 
broken,  I  suppose.  That  is  rather  different." 

Carron  had  a  passing  vision  of  the  particular 
shoulder  of  white  desert  sand  in  the  lee  of  which, 
three  years  ago,  he  had  roped  the  frantic,  kicking 
thing  which  was  now  the  chestnut  mare.  There 

133 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

horses,  she  turned  into  a  lightly  worn  path,  and 
walked  forward  through  the  trees.  Following  her 
presently,  he  found  her  sitting  on  the  other  side  of 
the  grove,  leaning  against  an  ancient  cedar  bole. 
Her  head  was  dropped  back  until  it  rested  upon  the 
rough  bark,  and  she  was  gazing  up  into  the  solid 
shade  above  her  head.  He  stretched  himself  full- 
length  on  the  ground  beside  her.  It  was  not  the 
most  comfortable  position  in  the  world,  lying  on 
one's  side,  supporting  one's  head  with  one's  hand, 
but  it  was  thus  he  had  the  fullest  view  of  her  face, 
and  also  he  had  noticed  a  tendency  in  women  to 
look  more  readily  at  a  man  if  they  could  look  down 
upon  him.  Her  body  had  passed  from  vivid  activity 
into  complete  repose.  Even  the  fingers  that  lay 
near  his  were  relaxed.  Her  breast  rose  and  fell 
gently  with  lengthening  breath.  "How  do  you  like 
my  trees  ?"  she  asked. 

Carron  looked  critically  upward.  "They  are  a 
rather  unusually  hard-featured  lot.  I  seem  to  see  a 
good  many  fists  shaken  up  there  in  those  branches, 
and  that  old  fellow  you  seem  to  have  confidence  in 
looks  ready  to  murder  me." 

"Oh,  that's  why  they  are  beautiful.  They  are 
like  a  lot  of  brigands.  I  love  them!"  Her  large 
white  lids  drooping  showed  but  a  narrow  gleam 
between  black  lashes  as  she  looked  down  at  him. 

124 


WILD    THINGS   AND   TAME 

"You  should  see  them  at  sunrise.  The  light  comes 
through  them  then,  and  they  look  as  if  they  were 
on  fire." 

He  raised  himself  on  his  elbow  the  better  to  con- 
sider this  surprising  girl.  "You  know  the  place 
rather  well,  don't  you  ?" 

"Yes.  I've  been  here  often.  The  third  week  in 
May  the  moon  rises  over  there  when  the  sun  sets 
over  there.  It's  cold,  but  very  pretty,  pink  on  one 
side  and  silver  on  the  other,  and  the  trees  always 
black." 

He  was  amused.    "You  seem  to  like  odd  hours." 

She  turned  this  over,  another  of  the  things  she 
had  never  reflected  upon.  "I  think  I  do — don't 
you?" 

He  reflected  in  his  turn.  "I  believe  I've  never 
had  the  chance  to  find  out.  My  mother,  a  most  ex- 
cellent lady,  brought  me  up  on  schedule  time — so 
many  hours  walk  before  breakfast,  so  many  spoon- 
fuls of  porridge,  and  so  forth.  I  believe  she  had 
my  father  well  in  hand  before  I  appeared  on  the 
scene,  and  I  seem  to  remember  that  we  both  went 
to  bed  when  she  told  us  to." 

She  looked  ready  to  believe  he  was  joking.  "How 
odd  that  is!  Father  and  I  have  always  done  ex- 
actly as  we  wanted." 

"So  I  have  noticed.  Mrs.  Rader  is  very  gentle.  I 
125 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

like  women  to  be  gentle.  My  mother  was  what  is 
called  capable.  I  used  to  wonder  how  she  ran  the 
church  society,  and  the  improvement  society,  and 
the  other  society,  and  the  house,  and  still  had  so 
much  energy  left  for  me."  His  lip  twitched  with 
amusing  memories.  "She  had  the  strongest  con- 
victions— she  called  them  principles — and  the 
strongest  will  of  any  human  being  I  have  ever 
known,  and  she  had  a  way  of  imposing  them.  She 
kept  me  under  that  thumb  of  hers  until  after  I  was 
in  college.  In  my  junior  year  I  suddenly  woke  up 
to  the  fact  that  I  didn't  have  to  mind  her.  Funny 
the  way  it  came,  like  a  bolt  out  of  the  sky.  I  kicked 
over  the  traces,  took  what  little  was  mine  of  the 
estate  and  came  out  here,  out  west." 

"But  then  you  were  free?  You  could  do  what 
you  wanted  to  then?"  He  smiled.  Evidently  that 
was  what  she  had  never  done. 

"Oh,  as  to  being  free,  I  didn't  know  what  it  was. 
I  thought  it  was  what  you  think  it — like  traveling 
through  space  above  the  earth;  I  thought  it  was 
going  to  be  like  one  prolonged  spree.  Lord,  how 
things  narrowed  down  around  me!  I  bought  some 
ranching  interests.  I've  got  more  now,  and  a  lot 
of  men  to  work  it,  and  all  the  incidental  stuff  to 
keep  the  two,  the  men  and  the  land,  going.  And  I 
get  up  at  sunrise,  and  go  to  bed  at  ten  o'clock  in  a 

126 


WILD    THINGS    AND   TAME 

way  my  mother  would  applaud ;  and  everything  on 
the  ranch  gets  up  and  gets  down  when  I  tell  it  to, 
and  I  run  that  thing  on  schedule  time !  Free  ?  No, 
I've  lost  that  somewhere." 

She  laughed.  "You're  like  your  mother,  aren't 
you?" 

"Oh,  Lord!"  he  said  dismayed,  as  if  that  had 
been  a  calamity. 

She  rested  her  chin  on  her  hand,  bringing  her 
amused,  inquiring  gaze  nearer  to  his.  "Then  you're 
not  here  for  fun.  You  are  here  for  business."  This 
young  woman  seemed  to  be  growing  uncomfortably 
logical. 

"Well,  no.  What  little  there  is  of  my  father  in 
me  got  stirring  around  this  latter  part  of  the  sum- 
mer. I  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer.  I  think  I  was 
spoiling  with  work." 

"So  you  came  for  the  hunting." 

"Hunting  will  do.  But  what  I  have  really  come 
for  is  for  a  taste  of  the  irresponsible  life." 

"Oh,  me!"  she  sighed,  "we  never  have  anything 
else!" 

"Then  I  shall  expect  you  to  do  great  things  for 
me." 

"Great  things?" 

"Yes — shake  me  up  out  of  my  stiffness.  Wake 
me  up.  Show  me — "  he  hesitated —  "all  of  it !" 

127 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

"Of  what?" 

"The  odd  hours — sunset,  moonrise,  whatever 
time  out  of  the  twenty-four  you  like  the  best." 

A  smile  curled  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"Well,  which  is  it?"  he  asked,  and  felt  an  im- 
pulse to  reach  out  and  stroke  her,  she  looked  so 
sweet. 

"The  middle  of  the  night!"  she  said  it  very 
softly,  as  though  she  feared  the  day  might  overhear 
her.  Her  eyes  looked  dreamy,  but  did  not  look  away 
from  him.  They  included  him  in  the  dream.  He 
felt  himself  led  far,  to  the  edge  of  his  unasked 
question — to  the  edge  of  the  wildest  of  possibilities. 

"You're  not  afraid?"  he  asked. 

"Of  what?    The  moon?" 

"No,  of  being  alone." 

"I  would  rather  be  alone  than  with  most  people." 

"And  me  ?"  he  asked. 

She  did  not  answer. 

"Take  me  out  into  the  middle  of  the  night,  and 
drown  me  in  it  some  time.  Bring  me  out  here." 

"Why  here?"  she  asked. 

"Well,  hereabouts-^over  to  the  great  stone  face, 
perhaps." 

Her  eyes  moved  away  from  him.  "Why  come 
so  far?  Three  steps  out  of  the  house  or  seven 
miles,  the  feeling  is  just  the  same,  isn't  it  ?" 

128 


WILD    THINGS    AND    TAME 

In  the  cool  shade  the  dusky  ivory  of  her  skin 
looked  white  and  luminous,  her  eyes  blue-black. 
She  was  herself  a  creature  of  night,  of  bright  lights 
and  velvety  shadows,  of  qualities  and  textures 
rather  than  color  and  line.  It  was  not  the  color  of 
her  mouth,  at  best  but  a  pale  red,  nor  even  the  form, 
but  the  expression  of  it  when  she  smiled  which  so 
profoundly  disturbed  the  senses.  "I  think  the  feel- 
ing would  be  very  different  out  here,"  he  said  posi- 
tively. 

She  glanced  at  him,  no  longer  confidentially,  side- 
long and  rather  mockingly.  "What  would  the  peo- 
ple say  to  me,  running  out  here  in  the  middle  of  the 
night?" 

"I  thought  you  had  been  out  here  at  that  hour 
before?" 

"Out  here?  Never!"  She  seemed  to  toss  that 
idea  lightly  away  with  the  cedar  leaves  she  was  toss- 
ing down  the  hill.  "Sunset,  moonrise,  sunrise — 
those  are  different.  I've  come,  though  mother  hated 
it,  since  I  was  quite  a  little  girl.  I  come  out  here 
still  once  in  a  while  at  sunrise,  you  can't  guess  what 
for." 

In  spite  of  himself  he  was  aware  of  a  feeling  of 
suspense. 

"To  watch  squirrels  play."  The  mischievous 
bright  face  of  a  child  peered  through  the  woman's. 

129 


"You  think  that  is  silly,  don't  you?"  she  asked, 
noting  his  relaxation  of  interest. 

"Very!  You  can  see  squirrels  play  anywhere  at 
any  time  of  day." 

"Ah,  that  shows  how  little  you  know  about  squir- 
rels. They  are  too  busy  through  the  day — they 
have  to  work.  Sunrise  is  their  party.  Over  there 
on  the  hill  opposite,  and  at  the  foot  of  this  one  there 
are  lots  of  holes.  I  sit  and  see  their  heads  pop  out. 
I  see  their  eyes  first,  and  the  next  thing  they  are 
all  up.  They  are  as  much  fun  to  watch  as  rabbits, 
though  they  don't  skip  so  high.  If  I  keep  perfectly 
quiet  sometimes  they  come  to  the  edge  of  the  grove." 

"And  you  tame  them,  I  suppose?" 

"No !"  she  scorned  him.  "I  hate  tame  things.  I 
love  them  to  be  wild !" 

"Indeed  ?  I  thought  women  liked  to  coax  things 
to  eat  from  the  hand." 

She  shrugged.  "I  don't  know  what  most  women 
like,  but  I  know  what  I  like.  I  tuck  myself  away 
behind  these  trees  so  they  won't  know  I  am  here. 
That  is  why  they  come  so  close.  They've  never 
even  seen  me.  I  am  very  careful  about  that !" 

The  words  struck  a  chord  of  memory.  He  had 
heard  those  sentences  before,  though  then  they  had 
been  spoken  by  Rader's  lips.  "It  has  never  even 
seen  her.  She  has  been  very  careful  about  that." 

130 


WILD    THINGS    AND    TAME 

He  looked  around  at  the  stunted  trees,  at  the  hills 
like  tiny  mountains  with  tiny  cliffs  of  stone.  His 
fancy  placed  the  little  playing  animals.  He  felt 
like  a  man  who  is  looking  at  the>  small  working 
model  of  a  great  machine.  It  was  all  there,  Lilli- 
putian size.  He  waited,  for  he  saw  she  was  going 
to  speak  again  without  his  prompting. 

"Most  people  don't  know  what  wild  animals  are 
like  at  all,"  she  said.  "They  think  of  them  always 
as  hiding  or  running.  When  they  think  of  the  word 
'wild'  they  think  it  means  afraid.  But  really  it  is 
just  the  opposite  of  that.  When  the  creatures  are 
playing  with  one  another,  when  they  are  alone  and 
don't  suspect  any  human  being,  when  they  are  them- 
selves, then  you  can  see  what  a  wild  creature  really 
means." 

"It  means — ?"  Carron  prompted,  very  cautious, 
for  fear  of  startling  her. 

"It  means — oh,  I  don't  see  how  I  can  put  it  into 
words.  It  means  something  quick  and  beautiful  and 
heavenly  fearless!  There  is  a  strange  feeling  you 
have  about  a  creature  that  has  never  been  touched 
by  a  man,  and  that  has  forgotten  men." 

"But  there's  a  difference  in  degree.  You  have 
found  that  so?" 

"Oh,  yes.  The  squirrels,  of  course,  as  long  as 
they  don't  see  you,  feel  perfectly  safe.  Foxes  are 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

not  so  easy.  But  some  are  almost  impossible  to 
watch  without  their  knowing — the  larger  animals, 
the  ones  that  sniff  you.  Yet,  if  ever  you  can,  when 
you  can,  though  it's  only  for  a  moment,  seeing  them 
is  the  most  wonderful  thing  in  the  world.  It  makes 
your  heart  beat.  It's  like  seeing  a  spirit." 

Carron  lay  for  a  moment  without  speaking,  study- 
ing her  face.  "Did  it  never  occur  to  you,  when  you 
are  looking  at  such  animals,  that  it  would  be  even 
more  wonderful  to  catch  them?" 

"No.  I  would  rather  see  them  killed  than  caught." 

She  blushed  for  the  vehemence  with  which  she 
had  spoken. 

Carron  bit  his  lip.  "My  dear  young  friend,  do 
you  think  that  is  quite  sensible?" 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  don't.  But  I  don't  think  it  is 
sensible  either  to  want  always  to  catch  things  and 
break  them."  A  word  had  slipped  out  that  showed 
too  plainly  of  what  she  was  thinking,  what  vision 
was  continually  before  her  eyes. 

He  curbed  his  tongue.  For  the  world  he  would 
not  have  startled  her  out  of  her  unconsciousness. 

"Men  are  always  shooting  things,  or  taming  them, 
or  controlling  them,"  she  went  on,  vivid  with  argu- 
ment, "and  they  always  say  they  do  it  because  it's 
reasonable.  But  I  don't  believe  it  is  reasonableness 
that  makes  them  do  it.  It  is  just  a  very  strong, 

132 


WILD    THINGS    AND    TAME 

blind  sort  of  feeling.  They  want  to  and  so  they 
will!" 

He  kept  on  smiling  for  quite  a  long  minute,  be- 
cause he  was  too  irritated  to  venture  speech. 

"So,  you  think  I  am  unreasonable?"  he  said  at 
last.  That  had  been  the  thorn  which  had  pricked 
him  so  deep. 

"Oh,  not  you !"  Her  eyes  shone  upon  him  all  their 
surprise  that  he  could  have  made  such  a  stupid 
blunder.  "I  only  meant  men  in  general.  You 
are — "  she  hung  on  the  pronouncement  of  his  sen- 
tence, then  let  it  fall  with  intense  gravity — "you  are 
different." 

Every  woman  who  had  known  him  had  probably 
passed  the  same  sentence  on  him,  but  now  for  the 
first  time  he  really  heard  it,  and  at  the  touching 
confidence  felt  his  ears  grow  hot.  His  pulse  too 
was  perhaps  a  little  warmer.  "I  broke  in  my  mare 
myself,"  he  told  her  warningly. 

"You  must  think  me  a  fanatic.  I  have  never  seen 
a  horse  broken,  and  I  never  will  if  I  can  help  it; 
but,  of  course,  horses  bred  on  ranches  have  to  be 
broken,  I  suppose.  That  is  rather  different." 

Carron  had  a  passing  vision  of  the  particular 
shoulder  of  white  desert  sand  in  the  lee  of  which, 
three  years  ago,  he  had  roped  the  frantic,  kicking 
thing  which  was  now  the  chestnut  mare.  There 

133 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

had  been  blood  in  the  foam  of  her  nostrils,  and 
he  recalled  she  had  nearly  succeeded  in  killing  them 
both;  but  it  had  been  a  great  moment  and  now 
she  was  a  perfect  saddle  creature. 

"And  the  wild  ones?  What  would  you  do  with 
them?" 

"Why,  let  them  alone,  of  course." 

His  lips  opened — remained  open,  silent,  speech- 
less. 

"Why  not?"  she  insisted.  "Wild  horses  are  the 
wildest  things  in  the  world;  they  are  the  only 
trampling,  wild  creatures  left,  and  there  are  such  a 
few  of  them!  If  you  catch  them,  tame  them,  why, 
then  they're  gone:  but  if  you  leave  them  and  let 
them  go,  then  you  have  them  for  ever !"  She  flung 
her  hands  apart,  the  palms  open  with  a  gesture  as 
free  as  if  they  had  released  liberty  itself. 

His  eyes  were  on  her;  but  out  of  the  tail  of 
one  he  had  sighted  a  thing  she  was  unaware  of, 
since  it  was  behind  her.  A  shadow  had  slid  -for- 
ward from  the  shelter  of  the  abutting  end  of  a  hill 
and  paused,  quivering  with  arrested  motion.  The 
horses  in  the  grove  fussed.  He  heard  them  tugging 
at  their  halters,  then  the  shrill  whinny  of  the  chest- 
nut mare  startled  both  man  and  woman. 

"Look  there!"  Carron  said.  He  indicated  the 
shadow.  He  had  startled  the  girl,  but,  strangely 

134 


WILD    THINGS    AND    TAME 

enough,  she  did  not  look.  Shrinking,  drawing  in 
her  arms  close  to  her  body,  she  stared  straight  at 
him,  for  a  moment;  then  made  a  rapid  start  as  if 
she  would  have  flung  herself  forward  upon  him.  He 
had  a  feeling  that  she  meant  to  cover  his  eyes.  He 
caught  her  by  one  wrist  and,  with  his  hand  against 
her  cheek,  gently  forced  her  head  around  in  the 
direction  of  his  pointing. 

The  body  that  had  cast  the  shadow  stood  there, 
plain  in  view,  a  small,  blackish  horse,  with  head 
flung  up,  staring  upon  them.  As  her  eyes  took  it 
in  she  gave  a  quick  little  sigh,  catching  in  her  throat, 
and  he  felt  her  tense  muscles  relax. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  and  again,  "Oh!  I  thought— I 
thought  it  was — " 

"Well,  what  did  you  think  it  was  ?"  he  demanded. 

"Oh,  a  lion,  a  tiger,  an  elephant!"  She  began 
to  shake  with  helpless  laughter.  Hysteria  was  the 
note  in  it.  "You  looked  so  frightened !"  she  gasped. 

Carron's  pulses  indeed  were  going  fifty  to  the 
minute.  "You  frightened  me,"  he  declared. 

The  black  horse  was  surveying  them,  nostrils 
quivering  with  suspicion.  All  at  once  he  wheeled 
and  galloped  across  the  open  space,  and  with  a 
graceful,  sailing  motion  vanished  through  another 
overlapping  fold  of  hills. 

It  was  a  spirited  sight.  The  animal  was  more 
135 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

than  usually  well  made ;  but  Blanche  Rader's  glance 
followed  it  almost  with  indifference.  "I  have  never 
seen  him  before,"  she  observed.  "I  wonder  who 
owns  him." 

"Perhaps  he  is  one  of  those  fellows  we've  been 
talking  about?"  Carron  tested  her. 

"Never!"  Her  full  glance  scorned  his  ignorance. 
"Didn't  you  see — he  stood  and  looked  at  us.  And 
then,  when  he  ran,  he  wasn't  terrified  and  he  is  too 
small!  Oh,  he's  nothing  like,  he  isn't  the  same 
thing!"  She  looked  at  Carron  doubtfully.  "I  begin 
to  believe  you  have  never  seen  a  wild  horse !" 


136 


CHAPTER  VII 

UPON  A  CARPET 

GARRON  came  bursting  in  on  the  peaceful 
scholar,  who,  upon  his  knees,  was  searching 
in  one  of  his  lowest  book-shelves.  The  young  man 
was  hot  from  his  ride,  and  excited.  He  had  left 
the  door  aswing  behind  him  and  the  sweet  odor  of 
pines  had  followed  him.  "She  wants  it  let  alone!" 
he  almost  shouted  the  words. 

Rader  looked  up,  his  large  blue  handkerchief  that 
he  had  been  using  as  a  duster  grasped  in  one  hand. 
"Who?  What?"  he  murmured.  He  seemed  taken 
aback  at  seeing  Carron  so  exasperated,  looming  so 
directly  above  him. 

"Your  daughter!  the  horse!  that's  what  she 
wants  of  it — and  that's  all." 

The  quickness  with  which  Rader  took  his  mean- 
ing suggested  that  his  mind  had  been  dwelling  on 
the  same  subject.  Perhaps,  between  readings  and 
writings  that  morning,  he  had  recalled  the  yester- 
day's talk  and  had  speculated  upon  Carron's  luck. 
He  was  as  alert  as  if  the  subject  had  scarcely  been 
dropped  between  them. 

•137 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

"Did  she  tell  you  that?"  he  asked. 

"Didn't  she,  though!  That,  and  a  lot  more!" 
The  long-pent  irritation  broke  forth.  "Oh,  she  gave 
me  her  ideas,  she  didn't  leave  me  a  doubt  on  the 
matter!  Said  she  would  rather  see  it  killed  than 
caught;  that  breaking  horses  was  not  a  sensible 
occupation;  that  if  you  tamed  a  wild  horse,  you  lost 
it,  but  that  if  you  never  went  near  it  you  had  it  for 
ever." 

The  scholar,  drawn  straight  up  on  his  knees,  with 
his  handkerchief  in  one  hand  and  a  tobacco  jar  in 
the  other,  had  the  air  of  an  astonished  suppliant. 
"I  don't  understand  that,"  he  said  slowly. 

"Of  course  you  don't!  It's  the  most  infernal 
nonsense!  A  horse  is  no  use  until  it's  broken. 
That's  sense,  isn't  it?  Says  that  it's  not — just  an 
instinct  that  makes  you  feel  that  way,  a  great  blind 
feeling,  she  calls  it.  A  feeling — pshaw !" 

It  was  evident  Carron  had  one  now.  He  rushed 
about  the  little  study  at  the  risk  of  upsetting  chairs, 
and  the  scholar  himself.  "Doesn't  want  to  have 
anything  hurt,  of  course,  can't  bear  to  see  any- 
thing suffer!  To  hear  her  you'd  think  the  worst 
thing  in  the  world  was  to  scare  a  wild  animal; 
and  as  for  hurting  it  a  little — !  If  she  had  seen  men 
agonize  as  I  have  she  wouldn't  worry  so  much 
about  a  wild  horse!" 

138 


UPON    A   CARPET 

Rader  got  up,  set  the  tobacco  jar  on  the  table. 
"And  won't  she  tell  you  where  she  saw  it?" 

"Tell!  What  do  you  think?  She's  got  a  will, 
that  girl  of  yours !"  He  was  teaching  Rader  about 
his  daughter.  "She  would  no  more  tell — "  He 
tipped  his  head  back,  half  closing  his  eyes,  recalling 
her  face  under  the  shadow  of  the  black  cedars — 
"than  if  it  were  the  sacred  ibis  and  she  its  priest. 
Oh,  I  don't  doubt  she  has  seen  something  remark- 
able. I  can  believe  that  now.  I  can  understand 
how  she'd  be  jealous  to  keep  it,  if  she  wanted  it 
for  anything.  To  use  it — but,  man,  that's  the  devil 
of  it,  she  doesn't." 

"The  Ideal,"  Rader  said  gently.  He  looked  down. 
"Something  that  has  never  suffered  and  does  not 
need  to — something  apart,  unlike  humanity."  He 
addressed  himself  more  directly  to  Carron,  "I  sup- 
pose there  are  no  women  in  the  world  like  the  Venus 
of  Melos,  but  we  don't  want  to  mar  her  because  of 
that,  do  we?" 

Carron  brooded  sulkily.  "Yes,  I  can  see  the 
Ideal,  fast  enough;  but  your  comparison  is  not 
true.  The  Venus  of  Melos  is  not  a  real  woman." 

"Isn't  she?"  The  scholar  thoughtfully  rubbed 
the  back  of  his  hand  against  his  long  chin.  "Do 
you  know,  to  me,  she  has  always  been  the  most  real 
one  in  the  world." 

139 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

"You  do  beat —  Well,"  suddenly  breaking  off, 
"make  it  a  hypothetical  case.  Suppose  we  call 
her  a  real  woman,  the  living  Ideal,  is  that  an  argu- 
ment for  leaving  her  alone  or  for  wanting  her — eh  ?" 

The  scholar  smiled.  "Oh,  no  doubt,  no  doubt,"" 
he  said,  as  if  to  his  notion  the  alternative  were  clear 
enough.  "Did  you  tell  Blanche  that  ?" 

Carron  was  shocked.  "You  can't  talk  like  that 
to  a  woman !" 

"Why  not  ?  The  desire  to  capture — it's  natural — > 
it's  in  the  blood.  Why  didn't  you  show  her  your 
side  of  the  business?  It  would  have  been  only  fair 
to  her,  considering  all  she  has  told  you.  Besides, 
you  might  have  persuaded  her." 

Carron  was  silent.  Rader's  idea  of  what  had 
taken  place  between  the  girl  and  himself  in  their 
morning's  interview  was  na'ive  certainly — straight 
question  and  reply,  having  the  whole  thing  plainly 
out,  as  flat  as  you  please.  It  was  the  idea  he  had 
started  with  himself  that  morning;  but,  somehow, 
circumstances  had  altered  the  original  conception. 
He  could  not  tell  whether  he  was  wholly  respon- 
sible, or  whether  Blanche  had  had  a  hand  in  it. 
He  knew  he  had  questioned,  listened  to  her  replies, 
not  contradicted,  perhaps;  though  he  could  not  re- 
member he  had  agreed  with  her.  His  diplomacy 
had  been  aimed  at  not  startling  her  out  of  her  self- 

140 


UPON   A  CARPET 

revelation;  and  then  she  had  turned  on  him  and 
transfixed  him  with  her  judgment.  "You  are  dif- 
ferent." Where  had  she  got  that  idea? 

"I  don't  like  the  way  you  seemed  not  to  tell  her 
anything,"  Rader  said,  a  little  wistfully.  "You  are 
very  clever  at  it,  my  boy." 

"If  you  like,  you  can  tell  her  everything." 

The  color  flamed  under  the  scholar's  thin  skin. 
"You  need  have  no  fear  of  that.  All  I  want  is  to 
keep  completely  out  of  this  business.  I  have  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it  and  I  don't  want  to  have." 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  Carron's  angry  tongue  to 
say  that  the  scholar  had  had  everything  to  do 
with  it,  whether  he  had  intended  to  or  not;  but  he 
shut  his  teeth  in  front  of  the  unruly  member.  "I 
beg  your  pardon,  I  have  been  boring  you  with  my 
affairs." 

"Not  a  bit,"  the  other  protested  hastily.  "In  fact, 
I've  been  very  much  interested — "  He  broke  off, 
conscious,  evidently,  of  an  inconsistency  between 
this  remark  and  the  one  before  it.  "What  I  mean," 
he  stated  carefully  and  explicitly,  "is  that  I  can't 
help  you  with  what  you're  trying  to  do.  Your  story 
I  enjoyed  very  much.  Your  Son  of  the  Wind  was 
delightful — very  like — yes,  very  like  one  of  the 
eclogues.  Anything  else  you  may  have  to  tell  ?...'* 
He  paused  inquiringly. 

141 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

"As  soon  as  there  is  anything  more,  I  will  let  you 
know,"  Carron  said.  He  was  relieved  that  Rader's 
interest  had  not  waned — far  from  that!  The  old 
fellow,  in  his  eagerness  to  keep  hold  of  their  subject 
of  discussion,  had  actually  given  it  a  shove  forward. 
He  had  put  it  on  an  abstract  basis.  In  the  future, 
Carron  saw,  it  was  going  to  be  easier  for  them  to 
talk  about;  and  talk  was  all  that  he  expected  or 
wanted  of  Rader.  Talk — the  talk  both  of  the  father 
and  the  daughter — was  what  had  revealed  to  him  all 
the  facts  he  had  learned  since  he  had  been  in  this 
house;  talk,  sounding  like  the  merest  delicate  the- 
orizing, fancies  floating  in  the  air !  Yet  now  he  be- 
gan to  see  that  this  had  its  origin  in  a  fact,  and  that 
every  visionary  phrase  harked  back  to  as  fine  an 
actuality  as  Carron  cared  to  put  a  bridle  on. 

How  the  girl,  unaware,  had  revealed  to  him  the 
reality  and  splendor  of  the  creature!  No  waif  of 
the  range,  but  Son  of  the  Wind  himself — or  kin 
to  him!  Her  words,  her  looks,  her  gestures  had 
translated  how  well  she  knew  the  difference.  Then, 
just  at  the  point  when  Carron's  expectation  stood 
tiptoe,  she  had  slipped  away  from  him;  recoiled 
when  he  thought  she  was  coming  forward,  dodged 
the  subject,  eluded  it,  fled  from  it !  Not  startled  by 
any  word  of  his,  but  by  her  own ;  suddenly  realizing 
how  this  veiled  talk  of  hers  had  been  on  the  edge 

142 


UPON    A   CARPET 

of  her  darling  secret.  No  amount  of  circumnavi- 
gation through  disarming  topics  could  lead  her  back 
to  talk  of  her  squirrels,  her  foxes,  her  wanderings 
at  odd  hours  among  the  hills.  All  the  way  home 
she  had  not  spoken  a  serious  word.  She  had  left 
him  at  the  veranda  steps,  and  gone  into  the  house 
laughing. 

He  was  far  from  supposing  Blanche  Rader  to  be 
an  absolute  obstacle,  as,  in  the  heat  of  vexation,  he 
had  represented  her  to  Rader.  But  to  come  at  her 
by  indirection  would  occupy  time.  As  for  coming  at 
her  plainly  as  to  a  man,  stating  his  object  and  his 
convictions,  trying  to  "persuade"  her  as  Rader  put 
it — Carron  smiled.  He  was  not  going  into  an  argu- 
ment with  a  woman  while  there  was  any  other  means- 
of  pursuing  his  object.  In  his  crowded  life  he  had 
had  little  time  for  experience  of  women,  but  what 
had  been  his  had  been  acute.  Certain  discoveries 
had  stuck  in  his  mind,  one,  what  that  thing  called 
argument  amounted  to,  when  it  was  between  a  man 
and  a  woman;  the  pitting  of  logic  against  will,  of 
expostulation  against  infinite  iteration,  of  a  dogged 
clinging  to  one's  own  level-headedness  against  every 
attraction  and  aggravation  the  unfair  half  of  man 
can  summon.  He  gave  this  girl  the  credit  of  being 
unaware  of  her  provocativeness.  She  could  not  help 
it,  but  there  she  was !  Talking  with  her,  he  had  to 

143 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

look  at  her,  listen  to  her.  A  blue  eye  might  blunt 
the  edge  of  logic,  and  resolution  be  seduced  by  the 
bend  of  a  waist.  Even  now,  as  he  walked  down  the 
long  passageway  connecting  the  study  with  the 
house,  hearing  her  voice  calling  to  her  mother,  he 
loitered  to  listen.  The  timber  of  it  was  like  singing. 
No,  he  wanted  to  keep  out  of  that  blind  path  where 
mind  and  sense  where  mixed  together.  Stick  to 
business  and  deal  with  men !  Thus  he  spoke  to  him- 
self, and  with  this  resolution  in  his  head  found  him- 
self involved  with  a  household  of  women. 

He  had  returned  to  find  all  the  heavy  batteries  of 
house-cleaning  unmasked.  It  seemed  natural  that 
the  scholar  should  shut  himself  in  with  the  peace  of 
his  books,  while  the  upheaval  in  the  hotel  went  for- 
ward. He  would  have  been  helpless  in  such  an 
emergency ;  and  when  he  did  venture  out,  summoned 
to  lunch,  he  moved  a  dismayed  spirit,  and  became 
involved  in  the  furniture,  armies  of  which  occupied 
the  halls.  But  Carron  was  born  for  the  handling 
of  objects,  animate  or  inanimate.  In  the  first  days 
of  his  arrival,  while  operations  had  been  limited  to 
the  polite  business  of  sweeping,  he  had  kept  his 
distance,  but  it  was  impossible  to  remain  aloof 
when  two  women  were  struggling  with  ladders  and 
hammers.  He  passed  from  a  morning  under  open 
skies  in  the  pursuance  of  his  own  business  to  an  at- 

144 


UPON    A   CARPET 

mosphere  of  turmoil  beside  which  the  occupation 
of  a  city  appeared  a  trivial  matter.  Mrs.  Rader  was 
most  unanxious  to  accept  his  service.  She  had  re- 
ceived his  first  offers  of  assistance  almost  with  hor- 
ror. 

In  her  faded  gown  and  her  large  dingy  apron, 
her  face  grayed  with  dust,  she  looked  at  him  as  if 
he  were  exclusively  an  ornament,  and  at  best  a  sus- 
picious ornament.  Even  after  he  had  vindicated 
himself  with  the  putting  up  of  the  closet  shelves, 
even  while  he  was  renewing  the  fastenings  of  the 
hall  windows,  and  doing  it  well,  she  still  surveyed 
him  with  the  eyes  of  a  skeptic  watching  a  miracle. 

It  came  to  him  that  she  was  less  skeptical  of  his 
skill  than  his  kindness.  The  idea  that  she  could  doubt 
that  astonished  him.  Here  he  was  laboring  like 
Hercules  at  the  distaff!  Did  the  woman  suppose 
he  had  a  dark,  double  motive  in  handling  her  tools 
for  her  and  driving  in  nails  ?  Perhaps  she  was  only 
unaccustomed  to  being  helped.  He  noticed  she  of- 
fered her  directions  timidly;  different  indeed  from 
that  other  one  who  appeared  to  have  no  doubts  of 
herself.  He  was  amused  to  watch  how  the  two 
women  worked  together.  Evidently  they  under- 
stood each  other  to  the  flicker  of  an  eyelash.  Mrs. 
Rader  knew  whether  the  windows  were  clean  and 
the  woodwork  needed  washing,  but  Blanche  saw 

H5 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

that  the  blue  rugs  went  into  the  room  with  the  blue 
furniture,  that  the  mirrors  were  in  the  right  light, 
that  the  curtains  were  even.  She  was  as  ready  to 
blacken  her  hands  and  dive  into  dusty  closets  as 
Mrs.  Rader,  but  the  faculty  for  arrangement  of  ef- 
fect was  stronger  in  her.  She  did  it  better.  She 
accepted  Carron's  help  with  a  promptitude  and  or- 
dered him  about  with  a  grace  that  commended  itself. 
Yet  she  waited  upon  him  too,  at  moments;  she 
brought  him  his  implements.  She  watched  him. 

He  became  to  both  women  a  person  to  be  appealed 
to,  called  to  from  a  distance,  and  by  one  of  them 
commanded  on  the  instant.  He  grew  used  to  seeing 
the  girl's  face  with  perhaps  a  smut  on  the  lovely 
arch  of  her  forehead,  peering  over  the  banister  to 
him  appealing  a  fresh  difficulty.  It  might  have  been 
his  house  and  his  opinion  the  most  valued  one  in  it. 
He  was  carpenter  and  maid  in  one.  Standing  aloft, 
invoking  the  devils  of  dizziness,  he  swept  cobwebs 
from  high  ceilings.  He  moved  monumental  masses 
of  walnut ;  he  drew  endless  tacks ;  and  in  his  arms 
the  carpet  of  fabulous  flowers  made  its  exit  from  the 
drawing-room  and  was  hung  in  the  sun.  A  pillar 
of  dust  stood  out  around  it  and  in  the  core  of  this, 
like  a  genius  of  blows,  Carron  wrought,  tireless. 

"What  in  the  world  do  you  do,  when  I  am  not 
here?"  he  demanded  egotistically,  as  Blanche,  com- 

146 


UPON    A   CARPET 

ing  out  with  a  lesser  piece  of  carpet,  paused  within 
the  smoke  of  his  labor.  She  had  changed  her  rid- 
ing things  to  a  blouse  of  white  cotton  stuff,  and  a 
skirt,  striped  red  and  white,  like  a  market  girl's. 

"We  hang  them  out  overnight,"  she  said,  "and 
in  the  morning  Bert  Ferrier  gives  them  a  beating, 
but  nothing  like  this !" 

Carron  lifted  one  eyebrow.  That  accomplishment 
was  all  that  remained  to  him  of  a  scar  which  had 
brought  him  near  death.  "So,  I  am  standing  in 
his  shoes?" 

"O,  no,  indeed ;  they  would  be  much  too  small  for 
you." 

He  looked  hard  at  her.  Had  she  intended  that 
double  meaning?  "I  would  much  rather  have  my 
own  in  any  case,"  he  declared.  "They  are  better 
made.  What  do  you  want  done  with  this?"  And 
he  took  what  she  was  carrying  from  her. 

Together  they  spread  it  on  the  ground,  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  house,  just  upon  the  edge  of  the 
pines.  They  had  handled  a  great  many  things  to- 
gether that  afternoon,  from  the  shellac  for  the  din- 
ing-room floor  to  those  marble  statuettes,  probably 
another  relic  of  "Janfer's  Folly,"  which  startled  out 
from  niches  in  the  wall,  like  miniature  ghosts.  They 
had  seen  each  other  repeatedly — taken  instructions 
and  given  them.  They  had  almost  quarreled  over  the 

147 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

right  tone  for  the  floor  stain.  Evidences  of  charac- 
ter had  expressed  themselves  in  actions  as  well  as 
in  words.  Now,  with  the  cessation  of  the  turmoil, 
near  the  end  of  the  day  they  paused.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  he  had  come  to  know  her  with  astonishing 
rapidity.  She  had  grown  from  a  strange  to  a  fa- 
miliar mystery — but  mysterious  still.  Standing  upon 
the  carpet  she  extended  her  arms  above  her  head, 
stretching  her  body  in  a  luxury  of  weariness.  The 
naturalness  and  unconsciousness  of  the  gesture,  the 
way  she  abandoned  herself  to  it,  relaxed  to  the 
finger-tips,  was  alarmingly  beautiful.  "Well,  Ba- 
doura,  where  does  the  magic  carpet  take  us  now?" 
he  asked.  "The  city  of  Bagdad,  or  the  enchanted 
gardens  ?" 

She  looked  inquiringly.  "I  wish  I  knew  what  you 
were  talking  about." 

"It  is  all  written  in  a  book  of  Mr.  Rader's  called 
the  Arabian  Nights.  Prince  What-You-Call-Him 
had  a  magic  carpet  that  took  him  to  various  extraor- 
dinary enchantments,  as  this  one  at  present  is  threat- 
ening to  transport  me."  He  spoke,  a  little  ironical, 
of  his  own  feeling. 

She  looked  sidelong  at  the  trees.  This  time  he 
thought  she  understood.  "I  wish  it  would  float  me 
over  to  the  kitchen,  and,  after  dinner,  up  into  my 
own  room,"  she  remarked.  "I  would  like  to  sit 

148 


Where  does  the  magic  carpet  take  you  now?" 


UPON    A   CARPET 

here  a  few  minutes  longer  and  see  if  the  magic  will 
work." 

"Why  not?    It  is  early,  only  five  o'clock." 

"Yes,  but  to-night  we  have  dinner  early.  It  is 
whist  night,  and  Bert  Ferrier  comes  up  in  the  even- 
ing to  play." 

That  name  helped  to  bring  him  back  to  his  senses. 

"Oh,"  he  said.  He  stood  stiffly,  wondering 
whether  these  two  were  engaged. 

She  made  a  step  by  which  she  worked  herself  a 
few  inches  nearer  to  where  he  stood.  "Promise  me 
something,"  she  asked,  tipping  her  head  over  to  look 
directly  into  his  face,  "you  won't  go  off  up-stairs 
and  leave  me  to  get  through  with  it  alone  ?  I  am  so 
tired,  it  seems  to  me  if  I  have  to  play  whist  all  the 
evening  with  Bert,  I  shall  die !  You  will  stay  down 
and  play  too,  and  help  me  out?" 

Carron  had  no  wish  to  avoid  Ferrier.  He  had,  on 
the  contrary,  the  greatest  interest  to  see  him.  The 
girl  had  mistaken  the  change  in  his  expression  at 
mention  of  the  fellow's  name,  and  he  was  not  un- 
willing to  make  capital  of  her  mistake. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  he  bargained,  "I  will  if  we  can  be 
partners." 

"Oh,  why  not?  Of  course  we  can."  The  idea 
was  far  from  seeming  impossible  to  her.  She 
swung  around  with  a  little  pirouette.  Under  serious 

149 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

pines  the  carpet  displayed  large  and  extraordinarily 
pink  roses  at  least  two  feet  apart.  "The  joy  of 
mother's  heart,"  Blanche  explained,  and  began  to 
make  little  dancing  steps  from  one  to  another.  These 
assumed  rhythm — then  measure,  the  figure  of  a 
dance;  and  Carron  joined  it.  One-two-three  to  the 
left,  one-two-three  to  the  right,  forward,  back,  cross 
over — then  ignoring  the  precedent  of  always  step- 
ping on  flowers,  he  whirled  her.  She  was  light,  but 
not  diaphanous.  They  trod  a  wild  measure,  quick- 
silver in  her  heels,  the  elixir  of  youth  or  some- 
thing keener  in  his  spirits.  Her  breath  was  quick 
and  warm  upon  his  cheek  and  beneath  their  feet 
their  shadows,  mixed  in  one,  darted  like  imps. 
Quicker,  wilder,  until  the  fabric  they  danced  on 
glimmered  beneath  their  eyes  a  ground  of  veritable 
flowers.  They  sensed  the  approaching  end.  They 
spun  like  dervishes.  The  moment  had  come,  when, 
with  any  girl  the  play  would  have  ended  naturally, 
with  a  kiss  on  a  flushed  cheek;  but  here  was  not 
"any  girl,"  and  his  impulse  was  of  no  middle  qual- 
ity. With  a  turn  of  the  wrist  he  whirled  them 
apart.  Circling  still  to  keep  balance,  they  swung  to 
opposite  ends  of  the  carpet.  His  action,  so  far 
from  anything  foreshadowed,  must  have  taken  the 
girl  by  surprise — by  more  than  surprise,  perhaps, 
but  she  did  not  show  it.  She  caught  step,  curtsied 

150 


UPON    A   CARPET 

deeply,  making  of  this  last  impromptu,  a  figure  in 
the  dance,  and  panting,  pressing  her  hand  to  her 
side,  poised,  looking  at  him.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
everything  he  felt  was  written  staring  plain  upon 
his  face.  A  glance  was  all  she  gave.  It  seemed  to 
decide  her.  "I  have  to  go;  I  hear  mother  starting 
dinner." 

"What  shall  I  do  with  the  carpet  ?"  he  called  after 
her,  and  in  his  ears  his  voice  sounded  hoarse. 

He  had  no  desire  to  stop  her,  now  while  his  veins 
were  on  fire  and  his  flesh  felt  heavy,  like  lead. 

"Leave  it  till  to-morrow,  leave  it  in  the  sun,"  she 
chanted  back  at  him  as  she  flitted.  She  went  off 
in  the  direction  of  the  house  buoyantly,  as  though 
the  prospect  of  an  evening  of  whist,  far  from  tiring 
her,  had  abated  her  weariness. 

But  Carron  felt  by  no  means  happy.  He  stood 
there  in  the  sun  while  the  wild  riot  of  the  senses 
passed  from  him,  leaving  him  with  the  uneasy  feel- 
ing of  having  wasted  his  time.  Not  that  his  after- 
noon's work  had  interfered  with  anything  definite 
he  could  have  done  in  his  own  affair,  but  that  the 
impetus  he  had  had  for  following  his  discovery  of 
the  morning  seemed  to  have  been  halted.  He  had 
not  had  his  own  thoughts  to  himself.  He  feared  he 
could  scarcely  have  them  to  himself  this  evening. 
She  had  a  way  of  absorbing  a  man — no,  of  making 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

him  be  absorbed.  He  should  have  had  his  wits 
about  him.  He  should  have  protested  that  he 
would  appear  only  if  he  could  be  the  idle  member 
of  the  company.  Then  he  could  have  watched  Fer- 
rier  without  being  himself  watched.  He  could  have 
got  a  perspective  on  him.  But  the  girl's  plea  had 
been  so  pretty !  He  had  been  flattered  into  making 
that  stipulation,  about  their  being  partners.  Now 
the  suspicion  pulled  him  that  she  had  managed  this 
deliberately.  Probably  she  wanted  some  one  to 
play  off  against  Ferrier.  She  had  seemed  to  care 
not  a  pin  for  the  fellow.  The  one  time  he  had  seen 
them  together  she  had  seemed  to  hate  him,  and  this 
afternoon  she  had  expressed  the  greatest  indiffer- 
ence in  her  mention  of  the  fellow's  name.  Yet  who 
could  be  sure,  with  women? 

Later,  at  dinner,  his  suspicion  grew.  She  ap- 
peared illuminated.  Talked  animatedly,  ate  little, 
and  evidently  had  her  mind  fixed  on  certain  arrange- 
ments of  which  she  spoke  to  her  mother  in  lowered 
voice.  Immediately  afterward  began  her  flittings 
in  and  out  of  the  living-room,  skirmishes  with  the 
furniture  there,  arranging  of  curtains,  or  smoothing 
out  of  rugs — the  behavior  of  any  woman  with  a 
"party"  on  her  hands,  serious  and  intense  as  if  a 
few  people  coming  to  sit  on  chairs  was  an  event  of 
the  universe. 

152 


UPON    A   CARPET 

In  this  bustle,  which  did  not  include  him,  Carron 
wandered  rather  forlorn,  catching  now  and  then  a 
glimpse  of  Blanche  or  Mrs.  Rader,  more  often  get- 
ting fragments  of  murmured  discussions.  "Why 
don't  you  have  the  lamp,  as  you  always  do?"  Or 
"You  always  used  the  center-table  before!"  Then 
in  a  note  of  exasperation,  "My  dear  Blanche,  on  a 
night  like  this,  what  do  you  want  of  a  fire !" 

"It  looks  so  pretty,  and  we  can  have  the  windows 
open  if  it  is  too  hot." 

Her  voice  had  answered,  from  aloft,  on  the  lit- 
tle stair  which  she  was  ascending,  probably  on  her 
way  to  dress,  and  Mrs.  Rader's  had  called  from 
within  the  living-room.  Entering  he  found  her  there 
alone.  It  was  the  room  Blanche  had  been  sweeping 
that  morning,  in  the  golden  vapor  of  dust,  but  now 
it  had  become  a  place  of  low-set  lights  and  long, 
pointed,  radiating  shadows.  Thus  the  ceiling,  which 
he  recalled  as  hideously  papered  and  the  settees  and 
what-nots  around  the  wall  were  lost  in  a  fringe  of 
darkness.  .What  one  saw  most  clearly  was  the 
polished  top  of  the  card  table,  illuminated  by  its 
cluster  of  candles;  the  chairs  drawn  around  it,  the 
fireplace  with  its  glow  and  in  all  the  windows  re- 
flections of  little  pointed  flames. 

Mrs.  Rader  stood  looking  at  these  things,  wistful 
and  astonished.  She  seemed  to  doubt  them,  to  ad- 

153 


SON    OF    THE   WIND 

mire  them,  to  think  that  they  would  scarcely  do,  and 
Carron's  suggestion  that  the  arrangement  would 
promote  conversation  only  turned  her  eyes  upon 
him  with  the  same  expression,  as  if  he  had  been 
the  most  important  effect  in  the  room,  therefore  a 
little  more  alien  than  the  rest.  What  in  the  world 
did  Mrs.  Rader  think  of  him?  Wasn't  she  making 
some  mistake  about  him?  Wasn't  he  an  innocent, 
harmless  sort  of  person — though  at  the  moment  a 
most  uncomfortable  one?  He  was  in  fact  an  inter- 
loping boarder  who  should  not  have  appeared  in 
this  gathering  of  a  family  and  its  friend ;  but  he  was 
presently  more  amused  than  uncomfortable  at  Mrs. 
Rader's  manner  of  waiting  and  listening.  He  won- 
dered whether  it  was  Ferrier  or  her  daughter  she 
was  so  nervously  expecting;  but  when  they  entered 
he  could  not  tell.  They  entered  simultaneously, 
Ferrier  with  Rader  from  the  veranda,  Blanche 
through  the  inner  door. 

She  came  in  with  the  air  of  conscious  triumph  of 
women  when  they  feel  they  have  succeeded,  either 
with  themselves  or  with  those  mysterious  manipula- 
tions of  things  which  they  carry  on  beneath  the  sur- 
face of  events.  She  wore  a  dress,  charming  for 
what  it  showed  her  to  be.  The  soft  flow  of  the  old, 
washed  stuff  conformed  graciously  to  the  lines  of 

154 


UPON   'A   CARPET 

her  body,  and  the  beauties  he  had  glimpsed  and 
guessed  at  before,  the  sloping  line  of  the  neck  and 
shoulder,  and  the  long,  lovely  forms  of  the  arms 
were  uncovered.  These  and  the  way  she  carried 
her  head,  the  brightness  of  her  eyes,  the  look  she 
had  of  rejoicing  at  being  alive,  made  her  shine  in 
her  candle-lighted,  fire-lighted  room. 

"Well,  what's  happened  ?"  Rader  wanted  to  know, 
blinking  at  the  dance  of  shadows  around  him.  "Her- 
mione,  what  have  you  done  to  us  ?" 

"I  haven't.  It  is  Blanche's  doing."  Mrs.  Rader 
looked  down.  Carron  perceived  that  she  understood 
the  reason  of  her  daughter's  transformation  scene 
and  was  trying  to  hide  it  in  her  eyes,  but  the  two 
men  who  had  just  come  in  evidently  found  it  an 
astonishment. 

"Very  pretty,"  the  scholar  determined,  looking  at 
his  daughter. 

"Rather  dark,  isn't  it?"  Ferrier  inquired.  His 
eyes,  black  and  quick-moving  as  the  little  points  of 
shadow,  had  been  darting  here  and  there,  trying  to 
discover  the  unessential  that  was  meant  to  be  hidden. 
"I  suppose  we  will  have  the  lamp  when  we  begin  to 
play?"  He  addressed  Blanche  directly,  as  if  there 
was  no  one  to  be  considered  besides  the  two  of  them. 

She  sent  a  smiling  look  at  Carron.      "There's 

155 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

plenty  of  light  to  see  the  cards  and  one  another's 
faces,  and  that  is  all  we  need  to  see,"  she  said,  giving 
Ferrier  her  hand.  4 

He  took  it  with  an  eagerness  that  was  not  hidden 
by  his  air  of  the  would-be  critic.  He  appeared  a 
sallow,  dark,  slim  young  man,  rather  pretty,  trimly 
built  and  buttoned  into  black,  his  look  of  lightness 
and  alertness  marred  by  the  slight  inward  bend  of 
the  knees.  Altogether  a  facile  figure,  smooth  and 
easy  and  but  for  the  small,  hawk-like  nose,  mild 
enough  in  appearance — a  very  different  figure  from 
the  man  on  the  road,  a  different  figure,  even,  from 
the  man  on  the  drive.  Could  he  have  forgotten  it  all 
so  quickly?  His  manner  was  that  of  an  old  friend 
of  the  family.  Even  his  uneasiness  at  the  change 
about  him  seemed  a  part  of  that  familiarity. 

"Mr.  Rader,"  he  asked,  "would  you  like  a  chair 
by  the  fire?" 

"For  some  reason,"  the  scholar  explained,  "my 
daughter  has  asked  me  to  take  a  hand." 

"Oh,"  said  Ferrier  blankly,  and  for  the  first  time 
he  looked  at  Carron. 

"Mr.  Carron — Mr.  Ferrier,"  Blanche  said.  The 
fact  that  they  had  met  before  had  evidently  slipped 
her  mind  in  some  greater  absorption,  and  neither 
one  or  the  other  found  words  to  remind  her  of  it. 
They  shook  hands.  Ferrier's  was  limp.  Carron  felt 

156 


UPON    A   CARPET 

rather  dazed  when  he  thought  of  how  naturally  they 
had  encountered  first,  how  plainly  they  had  dis- 
cussed the  facts  of  their  greatest  interest.  They  had 
seen  each  other  angry,  drunk;  they  had  parted 
familiar  antagonists ;  and  here  the  woman  had  raised 
up  the  social  barrier  between  them,  making  them 
strangers. 

"You  are  to  sit  here,  father,  and,  Bert,  you  oppo- 
site," she  said.  So  calmly  she  disposed  of  men,  like 
fate!  Ferrier  gave  her  another  mute  glance.  He 
looked  as  if  he  were  about  to  assert  some  right  that 
had  been  his,  but  then  he  yielded  and  took  the  place 
appointed  him. 

The  four  sat  down  together,  four  fronting  one 
another  in  a  hollow  square,  for  two  hours  to  look 
only  from  the  faces  of  the  cards  to  one  another's 
face.  Only  people  on  very  good  terms,  or  the  mer- 
est strangers,  can  face  one  another  in  such  fashion 
and  be  at  ease.  Even  Rader,  though  he  lifted  his 
gaze  in  his  usual  slow,  direct  fashion,  did  so  with 
an  effort  and  with  a  shy  consciousness.  Ferrier's 
manner  was  lively,  and  between  games,  in  the  pause, 
his  talk  flowed  in  a  thin  stream.  His  eyes  moved 
constantly,  darting  at  every  person,  every  object 
in  the  room,  resting  nowhere  an  instant;  flitting 
over  Carron's  face,  skimming  him  with  glances  that 
feared  to  stop;  that  seemed  to  refute,  to  deny,  with 

157 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

every  fresh  excursion  to  repeat,  "I  don't  know  you ; 
I  don't  see  you ;  you  are  not  there !" 

He  had  not  forgotten.  It  was  not  likely  that 
he  could  have  forgotten.  That  ugly  little  moment 
on  the  drive  was  too  hard  to  down.  It  kept  rising 
in  Carron's  own  mind,  like  an  unexorcised  ghost. 
He  could  fancy  of  what  Ferrier  was  thinking;  the 
same  thing  he  was  thinking  of,  Rader  too,  in  his 
greater  detachment,  of  the  curious  secret  which  was 
common  among  them,  which  made  it  hard  for  them 
to  look  at  one  another. 

To  tell  of  what  the  women  were  thinking  was  a 
far  different  matter.  There  was  no  telling.  Yet, 
they,  too,  seemed  to  have  a  secret.  Without  looking 
at  each  other,  rather  ignoring  each  other,  some  un- 
derstanding was  between  them.  Mrs.  Rader,  silent 
in  her  corner,  watched  Blanche  Rader  at  the  card 
table,  bright  with  the  mysterious  elation  that  cards 
could  never  account  for,  nor  candles,  nor  wood-fire. 
They  were  a  background,  and  a  background  for 
mere  enjoyment.  In  arranging  the  things  and  draw- 
ing people  around  the  table  she  seemed  to  have  ac- 
complished her  ambition.  She  looked  at  Ferrier  and 
she  smiled  at  him,  but  rather  less  than  she  looked 
and  smiled  at  her  father.  Carron  could  not  feel 
sure  in  what  way  she  looked  and  smiled  at  himself. 
He  had  too  keen  a  sense  of  her  appearance,  and  his 

158 


UPON    A   CARPET. 

mind  was  distracted  trying  to  discover  why  she  was 
beautiful.  He  watched  the  movement  of  her  arms 
and  hands  against  the  dark  surface  of  the  table, 
while  her  fingers  let  through  the  red  and  white  and 
black  stream  of  the  cards;  questioned  her  eyes,  which 
laughed ;  the  intonation  of  her  voice  when  she  spoke. 
The  matter  was  past  finding  out.  The  explanation 
might  lurk  beyond  visible  things,  in  the  heart  of  her 
mood.  And  there  was  a  veil  between  her  mood  and 
theirs.  At  moments  she  seemed  to  draw  him  near  it, 
but  then  the  faces  of  the  others  would  divide  his 
thought.  They  were  sitting  among  other  people, 
looking  at  clubs  and  spades,  handling  hearts,  hearing 
behind  them  the  beating  of  insects  against  the  win- 
dow screens.  If  only  they  had  been  dancing  upon 
a  carpet! 


159 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  WINDOW  OF  THE  SPHINX 

AT  half-past  eleven  the  evening  was  over  and 
Ferrier  getting  into  his  overcoat.    The  pocket 
hung  heavy  with  something.     He  drew  it  out  with 
an  embarrassed  smile.     "I  forgot  to  give  you  the 
letters,"  he  said,  and  handed  them  to  Blanche. 

"Thank  you.  I  never  thought  to  ask  for  them." 
She  took  them  carelessly,  standing  in  the  open  door 
a  moment  after  Ferrier  had  gone,  looking  out  with 
Carron  into  the  gray  glimmer  of  the  half-moon. 
He  wanted  to  ask  her  to  come  out  three  steps 
from  the  house  and  show  him  what  that  flood- 
tide  of  night  that  she  had  spoken  of  might  be  like; 
but  then  Mr.  Rader  interrupted  him  on  the  verge  of 
it,  asking  if  there  were  any  letters  for  him. 

"Oh,  I  forgot!"  She  hastily  skimmed  the  pack- 
age. "Congressional  Library  at  Washington,  that's 
yours — and  this  is  mine.  There  you  are,  'Pratt's 
Second-Hand  Book  Store' — and  this  is  mine — and 
mine — and  here's  one  for  Mr.  Carron !"  Her  voice 
showed  a  little  surprise.  She  held  it  out  to  him. 

He  saw  his  foreman's  writing  on  the  envelope. 
1 60 


THE    WINDOW   OF   THE    SPHINX 

There  was  no  mistaking  that  wild,  irregular  succes- 
sion of  angles  and  loops.  "Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Rader. 
I  am  blocking  the  door  and  I  see  you  want  to 
lock  it." 

He  moved  back,  and  Blanche  moved  back  per- 
force. Her  mother  gave  him  a  grateful  look,  but  it 
was  not  Mrs.  Rader's  gratitude  he  was  seeking,  but 
the  quickest  way  out  of  the  room.  He  made  his  ex- 
cuses, aware  that  they  must  seem  abrupt ;  but  a  pre- 
monition was  upon  him,  sharper  than  ever,  that  he 
had  been  wasting  time,  and  that  from  this  moment 
on  it  would  be  scant  for  him.  He  stopped  in  the 
hall,  where  a  lamp  had  been  set  high  in  a  bracket, 
and  held  the  sheet  of  paper  up. 

It  was  dated  two  days  back.  The  stuff  had  been 
sent  that  day,  Morgan  wrote,  and  "Esmeralda  Char- 
ley" was  going  down  by  the  morning  train  to  Beck- 
with  to  await  orders.  He  hoped  the  horse  was  the 
one  Carron  thought  it  was  or  it  wouldn't  be  worth 
the  trouble.  Just  as  Morgan  had  said  all  along  the 
brown  stallion  of  the  new  bunch  had  a  blind  eye, 
and  was  dead  financial  loss;  and  that  half-breed 
"buster"  whom  Carron  had  thought  so  fine,  had 
killed  the  two  best  mares — entirely  unnecessary — 
and  would  Carron  discharge  him  by  wire,  as  he 
wouldn't  take  another  discharge  and  hung  around, 
drunk,  every  night.  And  how  about  the  consign- 

161 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

ment  for  the  Cincinnati  Horse  Market?  The  Cin- 
cinnati people  swore  that  it  was  not  up  to  standard, 
and  they  were  the  ugliest  crowd  to  deal  with  Mor- 
gan had  ever  seen ! 

Carron  ground  his  teeth,  and  consigned  Morgan 
to  wretched  places.  "Damned,  pig-headed  Welsh- 
man !  One  week  more  and  he'll  think  he  owns  the 
business!  He  needs  me  sitting  on  his  neck  every 
minute!"  The  jar  of  the  business,  the  tangle  and 
the  clatter  of  it  were  back  upon  him  with  that  letter. 
He  realized  again  dust  and  plains,  and  hard  work, 
the  eternal  drive  against  time  and  the  importance  of 
it.  Morgan  and  the  boys  had  been  "driving,"  and 
getting  inevitably  tangled,  while  he  had  rushed  off 
on  this  wild-goose  chase.  For  what?  For  nothing 
but  to  indulge  himself,  his  fancy  for  one  horse.  One 
horse!  True,  still  if  it  were  the  greatest  in  the 
world?  But  that  he  did  not  know.  He  did  not 
know  one  actual  fact.  He  had  not  pressed  the  busi- 
ness, nor  pushed  it  through.  He  had  been  mooning 
among  leaves  with  a  girl,  filling  his  head  with  fan- 
cies like  a  girl,  dawdling,  blowing  hot  and  cold — 
and  Esmeralda  Charley  sitting  in  Beckwith  awaiting 
orders ! 

He  put  the  letter  into  his  pocket  and  ran  up-stairs. 
Entering  his  room,  he  groped  his  way  across  it,  lit 
the  lamp  and  looked  at  his  watch.  Fifteen  minutes. 

162 


THE   WINDOW   OF   THE    SPHINX 

His  ideas  seemed  born  with  the  procedure  of  his  ac- 
tions. 

His  light  was  a  blind  to  make  the  Raders  be- 
lieve him  still  in  his  room ;  his  room  itself  was  but  a 
route  by  which  he  passed  to  the  door  of  the  outside 
stair.  He  went  softly  down.  As  he  reached  the  foot 
of  it,  he  saw  the  light  in  the  living-room  was  out. 
He  kept  as  close  as  he  could  to  the  wall,  making  a  de- 
tour by  the  back  of  the  house,  and  was  startled,  hur- 
rying up  into  the  pines,  to  feel  the  flowered  carpet 
beneath  his  feet.  The  edge  of  it  all  but  tripped  him. 
He  shuffled  over  it,  hardly  realizing  what  it  was, 
passed  the  scholar's  study  and  then,  beyond  sight  of 
windows,  began  to  run  downward.  The  moon  gave 
him  a  half  shut  eye  that  helped  him  through  the 
trees,  but  running  at  night  through  a  wood,  and  run- 
ning of  necessity  without  sound,  was  no  easy  busi- 
ness. With  his  arms  now  flung  up  to  protect  his  face, 
now  out  to  feel  where  the  trees  came,  expecting  each 
moment  a  branch  to  knock  the  breath  out  of  him, 
or  a  sharp  edge  of  rock  to  catch  his  foot,  his  instinct 
for  direction  stood  him  in  good  stead,  carrying  him 
straight  in  a  long,  slanting  cross-cut  for  the  edge  of 
the  road. 

He  came  out  upon  it,  at  least  halfway  down  the 
hill.  His  chest  still  labored  with  rapid  breathing, 
but  he  struggled  to  make  it  slower,  shaking  pine 

163 


SON  OF   THE   WIND 

needles  out  of  his  hair,  gathering  himself  together 
for  nonchalance.  He  had  measured  time  to  a  nicety. 
On  the  dirt  road  above,  he  heard  the  dead,  muffled 
sound  of  steps.  A  few  moments  and  the  figure  of 
Ferrier  came  into  sight.  He  was  walking  quickly, 
his  hands  driven  into  his  pockets  and  his  head  down. 
As  he  came  on  his  face  became  clear  in  the  half 
light,  eyes  lowered,  lips  moving  rapidly,  as  if  he 
rehearsed  words. 

Carron  very  leisurely  sauntered  up  toward  him. 
"Good  evening  again,"  he  said  and  was  sorry  to 
have  frightened  him.  Ferrier  halted  as  if  he  thought 
he  was  seeing  an  apparition,  the  man  he  had  but 
lately  left  in  the  house,  now  walking  up  to  meet 
him. 

"I  happened  to  remember  something  I  wanted  to 
ask  you,"  Carron  explained.  The  words  sounded 
unhappily  impertinently  flippant ;  but  the  man  he  ad- 
dressed showed  no  inclination  either  to  laugh  or  to 
knock  him  down.  His  look  glided  sidewise.  He 
seemed  to  meditate  a  bolt  through  the  trees;  then, 
drawing  his  elbows  closer  to  his  body,  he  slipped  past 
Carron  and  walked  on  without  speaking. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  Carron  said  mildly,  catch- 
ing step  with  him,  "I  would  like  to  explain  that  it 
is  a  civil  question."  To  talk  while  he  could  see  only 

164 


THE   WINDOW   OF   THE    SPHINX 

a  profile,  and  both  hurrying  so  that  their  breath 
came  short,  was  impossible.  "There  will  be  no  harm 
in  waiting  a  moment,"  he  said  and  took  his  com- 
panion by  the  arm.  He  half  expected  resistance, 
but  Ferrier  stopped.  He  stood  holding  himself 
stiffly,  as  if  expecting  a  blow.  Carron  waited.  Fer- 
rier looked  upon  the  ground,  then  at  the  woods,  then 
upward  at  the  bright  face  of  the  sky,  finally,  sul- 
lenly, to  his  adversary's  face.  "I  wanted  to  ask 
you,"  the  horse-breaker  said,  "if  you  ever  went 
hunting?" 

"I  don't  think  I  have  the  time."  Ferrier  was  try- 
ing to  resume  his  air  of  a  young  gentleman  in  soci- 
ety, but  it  was  a  failure. 

"Because  I  am  going  to-morrow,"  Carron  went 
on,  as  though  the  other  had  not  spoken,  "and  I 
should  like  to  have  you  go  along." 

"No,  I  can't." 

"You'd  better,"  Carron  urged.  "I  am  a  stranger 
here.  I  don't  know  the  country,  and  you  would  be 
doing  me  a  service." 

"I  am  not  going  to  do  any  more  services  for 
you!"  Ferrier  squared  himself  obstinately.  "You've 
got  all  you're  going  to  get  out  of  me." 

Defiance  was  declared  between ;  Carron  was  glad 
the  battle  was  to  be  in  the  open.  It  would  be  sooner 

165 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

ended.  "You  promised  me  a  good  deal  more  than 
that,  you  know,"  he  said. 

"I  know,  but  I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you  anything. 
I  didn't  know  what  I  was  saying  or  doing.  I — I — 
was  hard  up !"  he  gulped. 

"Yes,"  Carron  said,  and  kept  his  hand  on  the 
man's  arm  soothingly,  as  he  would  upon  the  halter 
of  a  nervous  horse.  "But  you  did,  you  see,  and  you 
might  as  well  go  along  now  and  tell  me  the  rest 
of  it." 

"I  won't  have  anything  more  to  do  with  you,  I  tell 
you!"  Ferrier  answered  excitedly.  "Look  here, 
didn't  I  set  you  on  the  trail  all  right?  Didn't  I  tell 
you  where  to  go  and  who  knew  about — " 

Carron  interrupted.  "I  know,  you  told  me  the 
story.  You  described  the  horse;  you  said  you  had 
seen  it;  you  made  a  bargain  with  me  and  fulfilled 
only  a  part  of  it ;  and  I  am  here  waiting  for  you  to 
complete  it." 

Ferrier  stared.  "Why,  but  I  sent  you  here  be- 
cause she — " 

"Understand  me,"  Carron  said  distinctly,  "this 
is  a  matter  of  business  between  you  and  me.  I 
know  of  no  one  who  has  this  information  except 
yourself.  Beside  us  there  is  no  one  else  concerned 
in.it." 

"Yes,  there  is,"  Ferrier  burst  out,  "and  we  both 
1 66 


THE   WINDOW   OF    THE    SPHINX 

know  it !  She  is !  You  come  to  me  and  you  pretend 
it's  because  you  don't  want  to  deal  with  her — Oh, 
no !  you've  got  too  fine  a  sense  of  honor !  You  want 
to  leave  her  out  of  it?  Why,  my  God,"  his  voice 
soared,  "she  won't  tell  you!  Don't  I  know?  Do 
you  think  I'd  ever  have  given  her  away  if  I  had 
thought  you  could  fool  her  into  it  ?  But  you  can't ! 
And  now,  do  you  think  I'm  going  to  risk  telling  you 
myself,  and  risk  her  turning  me  down?  Yes, — 
wouldn't  she,  though!  She'd  throw  me  over,  like 
a  sack  of  old  meal,  if  I  told  about  that  infernal  horse ! 
But  I'm  not  going  to  give  her  the  chance !  I'll  play 
second  fiddle  until  it's  gone.  Won't  be  much  longer 
till  the  rains — and  then  you'll  see !" 

Carron  had  involuntarily  loosed  hold  of  him  and 
Ferrier  was  backing  away,  down  the  road,  step  by 
step,  his  voice  rising  as  he  retreated.  "And  you 
needn't  think  because  she  was  so  pleasant  and  made 
so  much  of  you  this  evening,  that  it  means  a  thing. 
She's  that  way  with  every  one.  She  doesn't  care 
a  flip  of  her  finger  about  you!  Hang  around,  and 
ask  as  much  as  you  like.  You'll  see!"  He  turned 
and  began  to  run. 

For  a  moment  Carron  entertained  the  idea  of  fol- 
lowing him  and  shaking  the  breath  out  of  him.  He 
wasn't  worth  while  knocking  down !  Dragging  for- 
ward the  woman  into  the  business,  shouting  out 

167 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

her  name !  Who  had  supposed  she  had  given  Car- 
ron  a  thought?  Who  had  supposed  she  cared  a 
flip  of  her  finger?  His  face  was  hot  in  the  chilly 
moonlight.  But  then  the  cooler  reflection  followed, 
the  poor  devil  was  in  love  with  her  himself — and 
jealous.  That  tirade  he  had  poured  out  had  been 
the  ecstasy  of  jealousy;  proprietorship,  trying  to 
assert  itself.  But  there  was  more  than  that  in  it. 
There  was  something  strange  and  contradictory. 
"If  he  didn't  want  me  to  get  the  horse,"  Carron  re- 
flected, "why  the  devil  did  he  give  me  the  right 
direction  in  the  first  place!  Why,  if  he  loves  her 
and  is  afraid  of  her,  why  didn't  he  lie,  up  and  down, 
to  me ;  lead  me  astray  ?  He'd  have  had  the  twenty 
dollars  just  as  surely."  He  slapped  his  thigh.  "But 
he  did  want  me  to  get  the  horse!  He  did,  in  the 
first  place.  It's  his  stumbling  block.  He  hoped  I 
would  get  it  out  of  his  way,  so  she  would  remember 
him  long  enough  to  look  at  him."  Carron  apostro- 
phized the  moon.  "Now  he's  got  remorse ;  scared ! 
Afraid  she'll  hear  about  his  part  in  it;  afraid,  if  I 
get  the  horse,  the  whole  thing  will  come  out !"  He 
shook  his  head.  He  relinquished  the  idea  of  fol- 
lowing the  fugitive,  and  at  the  same  time  relin- 
quished the  idea  of  Ferrier  altogether.  "He  won't 
!do,"  he  meditated,  "he's  too  weak." 

The  weaknesses  of  strong  men  who  know  what 
1 68 


THE   WINDOW   OF   THE    SPHINX 

they  want  and  will  pursue  any  means  to  get  it,  were 
always  sharp,  certain  instruments  in  the  hands  of 
whoever  cared  to  use  them,  but  the  weakness  of  this 
man,  who  reflected  the  will  of  the  last  person  he  had 
talked  with  might  cut  in  none  knew  what  direction. 
He  had  sold  the  girl's  confidence  for  twenty  dollars. 
He  had  fallen  into  an  ecstasy  of  dread  of  the  conse- 
quences. Yet  even  thus,  and  under  her  very  eye,  he 
had  not  had  the  moral  courage  to  resist  that  gold 
piece.  Carron  reflected,  walking  back  through  moon 
and  shade,  that  a  man  did  not  need  to  have  a  very 
delicate  honor  to  want  not  to  deal  with  Ferrier.  He 
did  not  plead  a  delicate  honor  for  himself ;  Carron 
only  pleaded  the  courage  of  his  desires.  He  was 
ready  for  anything  that  would  find  him  the  much  de- 
sired, fleet  and  elusive  Son  of  the  Wind.  Had  he 
met,  there  and  then,  the  traveler  with  the  cloven 
foot  who  stops  men  in  forest  ways  and  offers  them 
the  world  for  their  name  written  in  red,  he  would 
have  been  inclined  to  sign  the  document.  But  the 
devil  within  was  the  only  one  who  had  ever  ap- 
peared to  Carron,  to  offer  him  assistance,  and  this 
one  was  his  demon  of  persistence. 

He  was  up  the  next  day  at  dawn  to  be  sure  of  be- 
ing out  of  the  house  before  the  Rader  family  were 
stirring;  but  it  was  necessary  to  intrude  in  Mrs. 
Rader's  kitchen,  previous  to  trying  twenty  miles  on 

169 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

horseback,  and  he  was  still  looking  helplessly  at  an 
array  of  jars,  all  different  in  label  and  contents, 
none  of  which  seemed  to  be  either  tea  or  bread,  when 
the  door  opened  and  Blanche  Rader  entered. 

He  was  exasperated.  Had  he  not  known  how  it 
would  be !  A  woman  was  always  cutting  across  your 
trail,  not  for  any  interest  in  you,  just  for  perversity, 
or  to  know  what  was  going  on.  She  gave  herself 
away  with  her  first  words. 

"I  was  awake  early  this  morning  and  heard  you 
stirring.  I  thought  perhaps  you  meant  to  get  an  early 
start."  At  least  she  did  not  ask  him  where  he  was 
going.  She  began  to  move  deliberately  about,  lit 
the  little  oil  stove,  took  a  can  from  the  shelf,  a  coffee 
pot,  and  set  some  bread  to  toast.  The  kitchen  was 
filled  with  the  searing  and  steaming  of  things  cook- 
ing. She  looked  pale  and  languid,  and  had  less  the 
appearance  of  a  person  who  is  hardly  awake  than  of 
one  who  has  not  slept  enough.  Her  hair  drawn  up 
and  held  closely  with  a  large  bow  of  red  ribbon 
showed  the  full  white  sweep  of  the  neck  at  the  back. 
Her  head  was  carried  a  little  on  one  side  as  if  wear- 
ily. She  set  out  his  breakfast  on  the  kitchen  table, 
but  set  it  very  prettily,  and  while  the  toast  was  fin- 
ishing,arrangeda  bouquet  of  dwarf  chrysanthemums 
in  a  vase.  Ferrier's  words  returned  hatefully  to 
his  mind.  Was  Blanche  Rader  "that  way  with 

170 


THE    WINDOW   OF   THE    SPHINX 

even'-  one?"  He  preferred  to  think  that  only  for 
him  had  she  ever  arranged  a  little  bunch  of  flowers. 
She  sat  down  with  him  at  the  table,  and  made  him 
uneasy,  not  eating,  but  leaning  her  chin  on  her 
hands,  keeping  her  large  eyelids  persistently  down, 
drawing  patterns  on  the  cloth  with  her  forefinger. 
He  ate  hastily,  for  he  sensed  a  question  in  the  wind. 
He  did  not  escape  it.  "Are  you  going  to  be 
gone — ?"  she  came  to  a  stop,  seemed  unable  to  get 
another  word  out  of  her  throat. 

"All  day." 

"Oh!''  Her  eyes  came  up  with  a  flash.  "Are  you 
coming  back?" 

"Why,  of  course.    Did  you  think — " 

Her  lips  parted,  growing  a  little  more  rosy.  "I 
thought  you  had  had  bad  news  last  night,  that  had 
called  you  away."  Bad  news,  indeed,  he  thought, 
but  of  a  sort  to  make  him  stick  the  tighter.  She  was 
blushing  faintly.  "I  wouldn't  have  come  down — I 
mean  I  wouldn't  have  asked  you — "  She  laughed 
at  her  own  embarrassment.  "I  didn't  mean  to  be 
so  inquisitive." 

"All  women  are,"  Carron  declared  rising. 

She  bit  her  lip.    "All  women  are  different." 

"Some  are  exceptional.  It  was  very  kind  of  you 
to  get  up  at  such  an  hour,  and  that  was  a  very  good 
breakfast."  He  gathered  up  his  guns  and  his  hat 

171 


and  stepped  out  upon  the  side  veranda.  He  thought 
she  had  taken  her  dismissal.  He  had  a  notion  there 
was  a  flutter  of  red  and  white  petticoat  behind  him 
as  he  went  down  the  wagon  track,  and  thought  it 
was  because  that  red  and  white  was  somehow  get- 
ting fixed  in  his  stubborn  fancy;  but  when  he 
reached  the  stable,  he  saw  she  was  indeed  still  with 
him. 

"I  only  wanted  to  say,"  she  explained,  evidently 
because  his  rather  grim  expression  suggested  that 
she  needed  an  explanation,  "that  you  would  better 
take  my  pony.  He  is  used  to  the  rocks.  Nothing 
can  hurt  him  or  lose  him  in  the  mountains.  He 
knows  all  the  trails." 

She  was  more  thoughtful  of  him  certainly  than 
other  women  he  had  known,  and  not  at  all  insistent 
upon  her  own  presence.  She  stood  in  silence  during 
the  more  exacting  preliminaries  of  saddling.  Then, 
as  he  began  shortening  stirrups,  she  spoke.  "When 
you  get  back  to-night,  if  you  care  to  and  are  not  too 
tired,  I  will  take  you  over  to  the  largest  pine,  'The 
Witch's  Spindle'  and  show  you  what  I  mean  by  the 
high  tide  of  night." 

The  same  thought  had  been  in  his  mind  the  even- 
ing before,  had  been  upon  his  lips  when  the  letters 
interrupted  him.  Now  he  had  forgotten  about  it. 
In  his  mind  he  was  writing  a  telegram.  "I  shall  be 

172 


delighted,"   he  said,   while  his  eye  measured  the 
leathers. 

She  did  not  speak  again,  and  before  he  looked  up 
he  heard  her  walking  out  through  the  old  barn  in  a 
cloud  of  little  echoes ;  but  when  he  rode  up  the  drive 
a  few  minutes  later  he  saw  her  just  at  the  edge  of 
the  pines,  standing  on  the  carpet  which  still  lay 
spread  out  on  the  ground.  She  looked  toward 
him  and  waved  her  hand.  The  cool  sunrise  wind 
fluttered  the  red  ribbon  in  her  hair.  Carron  re- 
membered her  quite  too  long  after  he  had  lost  sight 
of  her.  The  road  he  followed  had  memories  of  a 
flying  figure  letting  herself  be  run  away  with  for  the 
joy  of  wildness.  It  led  him  up  and  down  the  swells 
of  land  rising  to  the  crest  of  the  watershed.  He 
did  not  leave  that  thought  quite  behind  until  he  had 
passed  through  the  village  of  hills  and  was  fairly 
out  in  the  long  dull  level  valley  with  Beckwith  in 
sight. 

The  day  was  early  still  when  he  got  in,  but  his 
business  in  this  place  was  trying  and  various,  first 
to  discover  Esmeralda  Charley,  whom  he  found  in  a 
desperate  little  half-breed  hotel.  Here  he  spent  the 
best  of  an  hour,  carefully  fishing  out  of  the  fellow's 
mind  such  ideas  as  he  had  on  certain  matters  at  the 
ranch.  What  he  found  out  was  more  cheering  than 
he  had  expected.  Sanguine  himself,  he  always  forgot 

173 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

that  Morgan  was  a  blue  devil.  He  decided  to  wire 
the  foreman  to  keep  the  new  "buster,"  and  modi- 
fied some  of  the  expressions  in  his  letter  before  he 
took  it  to  the  post-office.  There  remained  his  stuff 
to  look  after.  Safer  not  to  appear  himself  in 
connection  with  that  heap  of  stakes,  ropes  and 
canvas,  for  he  knew  the  curiosity  of  a  village,  how 
fast  it  can  travel  and  how  far.  He  sent  Esmeralda 
Charley  on  the  errand,  and  waited  in  the  wretched 
bar,  fretted  with  the  false  position  of  secrecy  in 
which  he  found  himself.  His  actions  were  those  of 
a  thief,  though  he  was  not  taking  property  which 
belonged  to  another,  or  to  any  one  in  fact.  But  the 
girl  held  the  whip-hand  over  them  all,  her  father, 
through  his  loyalty,  a  little  weak  in  point  of  prac- 
tice, but  theoretically  sincere  enough ;  the  man  on  the 
road,  through  his  fear  of  losing  her,  and  Carron 
through  his  fear  of  losing  the  horse.  Woman  she 
might  be,  and  fanciful,  but  he  had  had  some  ex- 
perience in  the  strength  of  woman's  will.  If  she 
found  out  what  he  was  doing  before  his  plans  ma- 
terialized, she  would  not  hesitate  to  frighten  the 
stallion  away  for  ever. 

Returning,  the  half-breed  reported  the  stuff  too 
bulky  to  be  stored  in  the  baggage-room,  but  he  had 
found  a  good  place  where  it  could  be  under  cover 
and  under  lock ;  only  the  people  wanted  to  know  how 

174 


THE   WINDOW   OF    THE    SPHINX 

long  it  was  to  be  kept  there.  Carron  looked  at  the 
ceiling,  saw  all  his  adventure  still  in  the  air  above 
him.  "A  week,"  he  said,  and  wished  that  he  could 
put  a  lock  upon  the  hours. 

He  presented  himself  to  Beckwith's  advice  as  a 
hunter  inquiring  of  the  best  direction  to  take  for 
game.  They  named  him  roads  and  trails,  but  none 
went  in  the  direction  he  wanted.  The  Big  Canon? 
Lord!  They  scorned  his  suggestion.  Nothing  in 
there  but  eagles.  None  the  less  he  was  stubborn. 
Well  then,  the  only  way  to  get  in  was  by  going 
twenty-five  miles  back,  someway  below  Raders'. 
There  might  be  a  trail  turned  off  there — they 
couldn't  say. 

Carron  had  no  intention  of  retracing  his  steps  so 
far.  Besides,  he  felt  quite  sure  a  trail  did  not  turn 
off  there.  He  had  looked  for  one  too  well,  four 
days  ago.  His  thought  was  fixed  on  the  little  win- 
dow by  the  Sphinx  which  had  shown  him  the  dis- 
tance beyond.  Esmeralda  Charley,  listening  to  the 
description  of  this,  was  not  sanguine  about  it  as  a 
point  of  passage  through  the  hills.  In  the  end  they 
made  an  expedition  straight  out  from  Beckwith  to 
the  canon  wall — ten  miles  across  very  vile  country, 
and  spent  the  afternoon  investigating  the  chance  for 
an  inlet  there.  Nothing  was  possible,  the  hills  be- 
coming a  high  rampart  of  shard,  their  bases  steep 

175 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

slides  of  stone.  Furthermore,  Carron  was  not  pre- 
pared to  risk  the  utmost  here.  It  was  too  distant 
altogether  from  Raders  to  seem  a  likely  place,  and 
to  his  knowledgeable  eye,  it  was  subtlely  unlike  the 
creature  he  was  seeking.  They  returned  to  the  town 
at  dusk.  He  had  no  thought  of  starting  for  Raders' 
that  night.  He  wished  that  he  might  have  found 
some  one  bound  in  that  direction  who  could  have 
carried  a  note ;  but  he  was  too  full  of  calculations  of 
rnoonrise,  of  trails,  and  possibilities  of  rock  forma- 
tions to  reflect  long  on  what  the  Raders  might  think. 
Through  all  the  night  he  was  wakeful  and  his 
mind  at  work.  To  go  back  to  the  place,  twenty-five 
miles  below,  where  the  road  turned  aside  from  the 
canon,  to  make  his  way  without  a  trail,  up  the 
difficult  Highway  of  the  Gods,  through  the  gates, 
into  the  circle  of  mountains  which  was  the  Big 
Canon,  would  be  in  itself  a  full  day's  work.  And, 
once  entering  it,  what  then?  In  it  he  could  not  see 
it.  He  might  waste  days,  lost  among  peak  and  de- 
clivity. It  would  be  like  entering  a  maze.  But, 
from  this  side  of  the  canon  wall,  to  ascend  to  the 
Sphinx's  window  and  look  through  it,  would  be 
looking  upon  the  maze  from  a  balloon.  From  this 
place,  set  high  above,  he  might  observe  the  trend  of 
mountain  and  valley,  the  direction  of  the  river, 
whose  voice  had  reached  him  from  a  distance;  he 

176 


THE   WINDOW   OF   THE    SPHINX 

might  choose,  from  here,  the  route  best  for  his  com- 
pass to  follow;  perhaps  sight  certain  places  more 
likely  than  others  for  the  habitat  of  a  horse,  some 
place  in  the  course  of  the  river  where  a  wild  creature 
might  go  to  drink.  The  window  had  a  look  of  hav- 
ing been  purposely  set  there  by  fate. 

From  the  top  of  the  watershed,  on  the  following- 
morning,  he  pointed  it  out  to  Esmeralda  Charley, 
just  as  the  sun  was  getting  up  over  the  great  headr 
crowning  it  with  a  circlet  of  terrible  gold.  The  lit- 
tle half-breed,  blinking  at  the  sight,  let  drop  unex- 
pectedly the  thought  of  a  philosopher.  Rocks  like 
that,  he  observed,  that  were  meant  to  be  looked  at,, 
never  meant  anything  more. 

Carron  bit  his  Hp.  He  knew  he  was  taking  a 
chance  as  wide  as  the  canon,  but  wide  chances  were 
all  the  hope  he  had  in  sight.  They  would  have  a 
little  closer  look  at  it  anyway,  he  determined. 
Here  they  were  at  the  point  nearest  to  the  hills.  At 
the  worst  they  would  not  have  more  than  three 
miles.  The  long  back  of  the  watershed  stretched 
with  a  gentle  downward  slant  out  toward  the  wall 
of  the  Sugar  Loafs,  and  together  the  two  began  to 
work  their  way  forward  along  it,  among  the  rocks 
and  bushes. 

It  was  not  a  difficult  way,  although  no  trail  was 
.visible,  but  Carron  could  see  from  the  action  of  the 

177 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

pony  that  the  animal  had  never  taken  this  route 
before.  The  cautious  planting  of  his  feet,  the  doubt- 
ful side  to  side  motion  of  his  head,  as  if  he  denied 
the  possibility  of  getting  anywhere,  a  general  air 
of  unwillingness,  of  having  to  be  pushed  along, 
spoke  un familiarity  with  the  place.  As  they  went 
on,  the  outcropping  of  rock  became  more  frequent. 
Great  faces  of  it  rose  to  the  surface  of  the  thin  soil, 
and  down  them  the  horses  footed  it  daintily  or 
cautiously  slid.  The  sides  of  the  long,  extended 
height  dropped  away  more  sharply.  On  either  hand 
they  looked  down  upon  thick  tree-tops.  His  com- 
panion murmured  that  they  were  running  into  a 
sack. 

Carron  tried  to  peer  over  the  low  pines  which 
were  thickening  in  front,  to  see  into  what  sort  of 
country  the  nose  of  the  watershed  ran;  but  the 
descent  was  too  steep  for  this  to  be  visible,  though 
by  the  drop  of  the  land  from  the  buttes  opposite  he 
gathered  that  a  hollow  valley  was  between.  Purple 
shadows  still  lay  like  water  at  the  foot  of  the  hills, 
but  their  tops  shone  yellow,  and  the  new  day,  beat- 
ing full  upon  the  Sphinx's  face,  gave  it  a  bland, 
almost  blank,  appearance.  The  shape  of  the  head 
and  the  winged  helmet  were  there,  but  the  haunting 
expression  was  confounded  in  the  bright  light.  He 
frowned,  staring  aloft  for  a  hint  of  it. 

178 


THE   WINDOW   OF   THE    SPHINX 

The  half-breed's  voice  sang  out,  shrill  and  sudden. 
Carron  pulled  rein  before  he  looked.  These  warn- 
ings came  sometimes  on  the  verge.  He  was  far 
enough  from  the  edge  on  this  occasion,  but  edge 
there  was  nevertheless,  here  where  it  had  been' 
least  expected.  The  end  of  the  watershed  was  cut 
down,  sliced  off.  Years  past  some  mass  of  water 
might  have  run  flood  full  here,  and  worn  it  away. 
But  now,  at  the  bottom,  wound  only  a  belt  of  dark 
sand,  with  a  narrow  stream  flowing  in  the  heart  of 
it.  It  had  made  no  murmur  to  warn  them,  being 
summer  water.  This  river  bottom  was  all  that  lay 
between  them  and  the  canon  wall;  but  the  descent 
into  it  was  most  uninviting,  neither  a  precipice,  over 
which  a  man  might  be  lowered,  nor  a  possible  hill- 
side offering  a  trail,  but  a  face  of  rock  slanted  at 
forty-five  degrees,  where  a  man  must  use  his  feet, 
yet  could  not  keep  his  footing  without  a  rope.  Get- 
ting out  of  the  saddle,  Carron  walked  forward  and 
looked  up  and  down  the  course  of  the  stream. 

The  power  that  had  cut  the  watershed  had  sliced 
the  hills  with  the  same  knife.  Cliff  it  was  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  see.  The  face  presented  was  irregular, 
however,  now  low,  now  high,  as  the  land  ran.  The 
place  where  he  stood  must  have  a  height  of  fifteen 
feet.  Upon  the  right  it  scarcely  reached  six  above 
the  river  basin ;  but  he  saw  that  to  descend  the  side 

179 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

of  the  watershed  would  be  more  difficult  now  than 
to  descend  its  face.  He  felt  as,  when  a  child,  he  had 
scrambled  to  the  end  of  a  tree  limb  and  had  to 
take  a  choice  of  scrambling  all  the  way  back  or 
dropping  to  the  ground.  He  had  always  preferred 
to  drop.  He  was  preparing  to  do  that  now.  It 
meant  leaving  the  half-breed  and  the  horses  on 
the  head  of  the  cliff  and  voyaging  across  the  stream 
and  up  to  the  window  of  the  Sphinx  on  foot,  and 
alone.  He  was  rather  glad  of  that.  The  long  rope 
was  fastened  about  his  body;  Esmeralda  Charley 
made  a  half -hitch  around  a  stout  little  pine  tree  and 
Carron,  beginning  the  descent,  with  the  first  step, 
loosed  a  shower  of  little  stones. 

They  were  not  such  pebbles  as  lodge  in  granite 
crevices,  but  particles  of  the  rock  itself.  It  was 
shale,  treacherous  stuff.  Firm  looking  projections 
crumbled  away  under  his  feet  like  cheese.  There 
was  not  a  bush  for  a  hold,  not  a  solid  thing  any- 
where, to  grasp.  Now  he  slid,  and  the  rope  sprang 
taut  on  his  body ;  now  on  hands  and  knees  he  crept, 
slowly  working  his  way  down,  backward.  Half 
way  down  his  foot  found  what  seemed  not  a  pro- 
jection but  a  crevice,  large  enough  to  get  his  toes 
into.  He  tested  it,  rested  weight  upon  it,  felt  in- 
clined to  trust  it,  and,  without  lifting  his  head, 
shouted  for  more  rope.  Nothing  responded.  He 

1 80 


THE   WINDOW   OF   THE    SPHINX 

looked  up,  thinking  perhaps  that  with  his  head 
down  his  voice  had  failed  to  carry,  and  for  the  in- 
stant rested  full  weight  on  the  rope.  At  that  instant 
Esmeralda  Charley  threw  the  slack.  Carron  felt 
himself  topple  back.  His  foot  tore  out  of  the 
crevice.  Then  the  spring  of  the  lariat  around  his 
body  pulled  the  breath  out  of  him.  He  was 
jerked  up  again  so  violently  that  he  was  flung  flat 
against  the  cliff.  His  last  instinct  was  to  protect 
his  face.  He  felt  a  blow  on  the  side  of  the  head, 
and  began  to  drop  away  into  a  cold,  ringing  dark- 
ness. At  intervals  he  heard  Esmeralda  Charley's 
voice,  calling  faintly  from  a  distance.  He  be- 
came aware  of  intense  pain  in  his  head,  increasing 
with  the  increasing  return  of  light,  and  the  half- 
breed's  voice  seemed  to  be  getting  louder  again.  He 
must  be  drawing  nearer.  Carron  languidly  opened 
his  eyes. 

He  was  looking  down  into  the  sand  and  water, 
still  some  feet  below.  The  side  of  his  head  that 
ached  still  rested  upon  the  face  of  the  rock.  Vaguely 
astonished  he  rolled  his  head  around  and  saw  be- 
fore him  the  mountain  as  a  great  silhouette,  a  wall 
upon  the  blinding  sky ;  and  opening  through  it,  look- 
ing softly  upon  him,  was  that  blue  eye  of  distance. 
Within  it  he  saw  mountains  like  a  dream,  far  away, 
ineffable,  another  world. 

181 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

"Are  you  all  right?  Are  you  all  right?"  the  re- 
peated cry  grew  clearer  to  his  returning  conscious- 
ness. He  looked  up  and  saw  the  dark  face  of 
Esmeralda  Charley  peering  over  the  edge  of  the 
declivity.  Half  stunned  yet,  Carron  found  his 
voice. 

"Yes,  I'm  all  right.  I  want  to  lie  still  a  moment." 
He  was  getting  his  bearings,  and  realizing  what 
had  happened — nothing  serious,  nothing  but  his 
own  infernal  clumsiness  and  Esmeralda  Charley's 
attempt  to  jerk  him  back  to  his  feet,  instead  of 
letting  him  roll  down  a  little  way  with  the  slack  of 
the  lariat.  He  sat  up  in  a  fine  temper,  conscious  of 
a  throbbing  head,  but  feeling  steady  enough.  "Don't 
pull  me  up,"  he  called,  feeling  the  lariat  strain 
around  him,  "I'm  going  on.  Pay  out  now  when  I 
tell  you." 

He  heard  the  half-breed  warning  him  to  be  care- 
ful— of  what,  he  couldn't  make  out.  He  was  too 
much  occupied  with  not  making  another  slip,  and 
with  determining  in  what  sort  of  place  he  was  going 
to  land.  The  rock  shelved  out,  perhaps  a  couple  of 
feet  into  the  sand.  Stretching  his  legs  he  slid  in  a 
shower  of  fragments,  and  stood  upright  upon  the 
level  at  last.  His  feet  were  still  upon  rock,  but  a  foot 
in  front  was  wet  sand.  He  looked  up  and  down. 
As  far  as  could  be  seen  the  dark  gray  streak 

182 


THE   WINDOW   OF   THE    SPHINX 

in  which  the  shrunken  river  made  its  bed  was  con- 
stant. From  above,  the  place  where  he  now  stood 
had  seemed  narrow  enough ;  but  confronted,  it  was 
wide  indeed.  He  could  hardly  throw  a  stone  across 
it,  and  as  far  as  the  dampness  of  the  water  spread, 
the  sand  had  a  tremulous,  liquid  quiver.  Carron  did 
not  like  the  look  of  it.  "Nasty  going,"  he  thought 
it.  These  little  half-dry  creek  beds  were  sometimes 
hard  to  pull  your  legs  through.  The  best  way  to 
take  them  was  with  a  rush.  He  loosened  the  rope 
from  his  body,  let  it  swing  back  behind  him,  kicked 
off  his  shoes,  fastened  them  around  his  neck,  and 
leaned  back  against  the  cliff  to  get  what  start  was 
possible. 

The  impetus  of  his  rush  carried  him  a  little  way 
out;  then  he  was  in  over  the  knees,  still  going  for- 
ward. He  was  in  to  the  thighs  before  he  knew  it. 
The  sensation  was  not  of  sinking,  but  of  being 
drawn  down.  He  heaved  against  the  weight  that 
thrust  upon  him  from  every  side,  and  advanced  not 
an  inch.  A  crazy  conviction  took  him  that  some- 
how he  could  put  forth  inhuman  strength  to  combat 
this  resistance;  that,  to  get  across,  some  super- 
natural power  would  be  given  him.  But  the  only 
thing  supernatural  he  was  conscious  of  was  the 
power  beneath  his  feet.  He  heard  the  sing  of  the 
lariat  passing  close  to  his  cheek  as  the  half-breed 

183 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

threw  it.  It  was  thrown  twice  before  he  could 
grasp  it.  .With  some  sharp  tugging  on  the  half- 
breed's  part,  using  himself  and  the  tree  as  a  wind- 
lass, and  some  hard  treading  on  Carron's,  he  was 
dragged  by  degrees,  and  with  a  sucking  sound,  out 
of  the  mouth  of  the  quicksand. 

Wet  to  the  arm-pits,  trembling  with  the  exertion 
he  had  made,  perspiration  upon  his  forehead,  he 
reached  the  little  projecting  ledge  of  rock.  He  had 
had  worse  moments  of  danger.  There  had  been  no 
danger  worth  thinking  about,  with  the  half-breed 
there  to  throw  a  rope.  The  fear  of  a  man,  newly 
escaped  death,  was  not  his,  but  the  disgust  and  the 
anger  of  a  man  who  has  not  succeeded.  To  have 
failed  by  so  narrow  a  margin!  To  have  been  kept 
back  by  so  puny  a  stream — thumped  on  the  head 
by  a  rock  and  then  half  swallowed  by  a  wretched 
patch  of  sand !  He  put  up  his  handkerchief,  mopped 
the  blood  that  was  running  down  his  neck,  and 
looked  up  at  his  enemy,  the  Sphinx.  The  mass  of 
the  head  gazed  over  him,  and  past  him.  No  shadow 
upon  it  pointed  an  eyelash  toward  him;  no  quiver 
on  the  large  front,  nothing  that  recognized  him, 
lying  on  the  ledge,  like  a  hooked  fish.  He  waited  a 
little  longer,  recovering  strength;  then  with  throb- 
bing head,  throbbing  wrists,  and  a  beating  deter- 
mination, he  painfully  reascended  the  nose  of  the 

184 


THE    WINDOW    OF   THE    SPHINX 

watershed  and  at  the  top  lay  down  to  dry  himself 
in  the  sun. 

His  flask  and  the  bread  that  he  had,  helped  to  re- 
store him.  He  rested  while  Esmeralda  Charley 
roped  himself  down  one  side  of  the  rocky  prom- 
ontory upon  which  they  lay,  and  set  off  northward, 
prospecting  the  bank  of  the  stream.  Returning  in 
the  course  of  two  hours,  the  man  reported  that  per- 
haps six  miles  up  from  the  watershed  the  quicksand 
made  a  wide  swing  across  the  valley  to  the  hills. 
But  at  that  point,  he  said,  it  would  be  impossible  to 
get  down  with  the  horses,  as  there  was  still  consid- 
erable cliff.  He  thought  that  to  get  around  they 
would  have  to  go  back  to  Beckwith. 

Carron  looked  up  at  the  sun,  and  then  at  his 
watch.  Twenty  miles  from  where  they  were  merely 
to  reach  the  Sugar  Loafs  ?  And  then  to  make  their 
way  down,  ten  miles  or  more  over  a  country  of 
broken  stone,  and  probably  involve  themselves  again 
in  the  sand  ?  He  suspected  a  sink  somewhere  about 
the  base  of  the  hills,  where  the  stream  dropped. 
Such  waters  flow  now  above  ground,  now  sunk. 
That  implacable  lady,  the  Sphinx,  had  surrounded 
herself  with  a  wall  and  a  moat.  He  had  scaled  the 
one,  but  he  was  left  on  the  brink  of  the  other,  a 
thwarted  besieger. 

The  afternoon  had  drawn  toward  a  close,  when 


SON    OF.   THE   WIND 

the  horse-breaker  and  the  half-breed  parted  com- 
pany, the  half-breed  to  Beckwith  to  wait  for  fresh 
instructions,  Carron  toward  Raders'.  As  he  rode, 
he  looked  over  the  country.  He  had  surveyed  it 
before,  seen  it  heavily  wooded,  deeply  gullied,  and 
put  it  down  as  improbable.  Now  he  knew  it  im- 
possible, at  least  as  far  as  the  quicksand  went. 
This  must  disappear  as  the  country  passed  from 
plain  to  forest,  from  shallow  hollow  to  precipice ;  but 
to  travel  here  without  a  trail,  to  chance  crossing  the 
transverse  ravines,  and  spend  Heaven  knows  what 
time  at  it,  for  the  sake  of  a  mere  look  into  the 
canon — that  chance  was  too  wide,  even  for  him! 
Yet  his  eyes  kept  busy  prying  at  the  edges  of  the 
forest.  The  jealous  trees  must  be  hiding  a  path 
somewhere  Jbehind  their  skirts.  As  he  came  to  the 
crest  of  the  long  descent,  the  last  hill  before  Ra- 
der's,  he  saw  an  opening  among  the  bushes  on  the 
left.  He  reconnoitered  and  found  a  wagon  track 
leading  downward;  rode  a  little  way  along  it,  with 
rising  hope,  and  saw  its  destination  was  a  house. 
The  roof  was  so  gray  and  mottled  by  weather  that 
from  the  road  it  would  have  looked  like  part  of  the 
trees  surrounding  it.  For  a  moment  hope  lingered. 
The  place  might  be  a  deserted  cabin,  and  the  wagon 
track  lead  on  past  it.  Then  he  heard  voices,  and  in 
the  clearing  before  the  house  he  saw  the  flutter  of 

1 86 


THE   WINDOW   OF   THE    SPHINX 

a  woman's  skirt.  Evidently  this  was  not  the  way  to 
the  Sphinx!  He  retraced  his  steps.  His  stubborn 
mind  pursued  the  one  thought — there  must  be  an- 
other way  to  come  at  it  then.  There  was  always 
another  way.  His  body,  innured  to  hours  in  the 
saddle  and  to  great  exertions,  felt  the  discomforts 
of  the  adventure  but  little.  It  was  in  his  mind 
that  he  suffered.  So  easy  the  thing  had  looked 
and  proved  so  difficult !  In  every  direction  he  had 
tried  he  had  found  an  obstacle,  whether  the  dead 
wall  of  a  rock  or  of  a  coward's  fear  of  conse- 
quences; the  quicksand  of  a  river,  or  of  a  girl's 
mind.  To  say  he  was  defeated,  that  he  had  given 
up,  did  not  occur  to  him.  The  higher  the  difficulty, 
the  higher  he  looked  to  meet  it.  He  had  gone  too 
far  into  the  thing  to  dream  of  failure  now. 

Approaching  Raders',  he  grew  conscious  of  his 
dilapidated  appearance.  He  was  obliged  to  keep 
his  handkerchief  bound  around  the  cut  that  still 
bled  a  little,  and  he  was  a  spectacle  of  mud  to  the 
waist.  He  looked  forward  to  meeting  those  people 
and  their  questions  with  an  unconscious  bracing  of 
capacity.  There  was  nothing  extraordinary  in  a 
hunter  having  had  hair-breadth  escapes;  but  in  a 
dry  "and  burning  season,  and  in  a  country  of  rock, 
there  were  few  places  where  a  man  might  drop  into, 
a  mud-hole.  There  might  be  only  one  quicksand 

187 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

in  the  county.  And  what  would  a  hunter  have  been 
doing  upon  a  plain  on  the  second  day  of  his  hunt- 
ing? 

His  mind  saw  the  suspicion  grow  in  Blanche 
Rader's  confident  eyes.  As  for  Mrs.  Rader,  she 
already  suspected  him  of  something,  and,  woman 
fashion,  she  would,  therefore,  be  prepared  to  sus- 
pect him  of  anything.  The  scholar,  of  course, 
would  know  what  he  had  been  about,  and  the  old 
fellow  had  dropped  him  a  hint  that  in  his  austere 
conception  of  the  affair,  the  girl's  refusal  ought  to 
put  an  end  to  the  quest.  Now,  when  he  saw  it  had 
not,  perhaps,  in  spite  of  his  fine  reassurances,  he 
would  consider  it  his  duty  to  reveal  what  was  go- 
ing forward.  Carron  felt  he  was  going  forth 
against  antagonists;  for,  gentle  as  they  were,  they 
seemed  all  to  be  against  him.  Nevertheless,  he 
turned  into  the  loop  of  the  drive  with  that  mixed 
sense  of  familiarity  and  strangeness  that  one  feels, 
after  an  absence,  upon  returning  home.  The  pale, 
austere  front  of  the  house  was  more  welcome  to 
him  than  ever  the  classic  aspect  of  his  mother's 
house  in  Connecticut.  This  impression  of  homelike- 
ness  was  added  to  presently  by  the  sight  of  an  ex- 
pectant figure.  It  was  revealed  as  that  of  the 
scholar.  He  was  moving  rather  restlessly  along 
the  porch  of  the  old  wing,  now  and  then  stretching 

188 


THE   WINDOW   OF   THE    SPHINX 

his  head  on  his  long  neck  to  look  out  between  the 
vines.  Seeing  Carron,  his  face  relaxed  into  a  smile. 
He  raised  his  hand  above  his  head,  in  joyful  salute, 
and  hurried  to  the  steps,  as  the  young  man  rode  up. 
"My  dear  boy,  we  have  been  wondering — why,  I'm 
very  glad  to  see  you !  The  women  have  been  quite 
frightened." 

"Frightened?"  Carron  echoed,  feeling  somewhat 
mystified. 

"Yes,  your  not  coming  back  last  night.  Of 
course,  I  told  them  you  were  all  right.  Two  days, 
more  or  less,  is  nothing — and  a  man  can't  send  a 
note  out  of  the  wilderness.  Still  women,  you 
know!"  He  expressively  waved  his  hand.  "Mrs. 
Rader  has  gone  down  to  the  Ferriers  now,  to  see 
if  perhaps  they  had  heard  anything  of  you." 

"Mrs.  Rader  has?"  Carron  had  become  an  echo 
of  astonishment. 

"Yes,"  the  scholar  sighed,  and  added,  "she  kept 
me  awake  quite  a  little  last  night,  fussing  about  it.'* 

Taken  aback,  ashamed  of  his  recent  suspicions, 
touched,  Carron  hadn't  yet  heard  the  name  he  most 
wanted. 

"You  are  all  right,  aren't  you  ?"  Rader  continued. 
His  manner  slowed  a  little  from  the  unwonted 
vivacity  of  excitement  "What  is  that  around  your 
head?" 

189 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

"I  cut  myself  up  in  the  rocks  and  then  got  into 
the  mud.  It's  nothing." 

"Ah !  well,"  the  scholar  surveyed  him  with  an  al- 
most affectionate  glance,  "the  women  will  fix  you 
up.  They'll  love  to."  He  hesitated,  lowered  his 
voice,  leaning  forward,  "You  didn't — ?"  The  rest 
of  the  query  was  in  his  eyes.  It  spoke  of  the  secret 
that  was  between  them. 

Carron  smiled  rather  grimly.    "No,  I — " 

He  stopped.  A  door  had  opened  suddenly.  Not 
the  one  fronting  the  steps,  but  one  farther  down 
the  porch,  opening  out  of  the  living-room.  Blanche 
Rader  stood  there.  She  held  a  long  piece  of  white 
stuff  in  one  hand.  It  trailed  to  the  floor  and  she 
had  trodden  upon  it.  He  knew  she  was  looking  at 
him,  but  did  not  see  her  expression;  saw  her  there 
only  as  the  symbol  of  his  difficulties,  fragile,  yet 
triumphant  where  he  had  failed.  She  was  like  the 
Sphinx.  She  was  the  Sphinx — perhaps  the  very 
core  of  it,  unreasoning,  not  to  be  moved,  set  there 
in  his  path,  the  perverse  deity  who  had  led  him  and 
then  held  him  back.  Oh,  to  get  hold  of  her ;  to  put 
her  completely  out  of  the  way,  upon  some  high 
shelf  of  the  universe  where  she  could  not  do  any 
harm!  Where  she  could  no  longer  interrupt  his 
thoughts  and  disturb  his  affairs,  and  make  of  life 
a  thing  of  furies  and  elations. 

190 


THE   WINDOW   OF   THE    SPHINX 

She  had  disappeared,  she  had  vanished  through 
the  door  again,  without  a  word,  without  a  motion 
of  recognition,  leaving  him  only  the  memory  of  her 
gaze,  which,  now  she  was  gone,  he  knew  had  not 
been  like  the  Sphinx.  It  had  not  been  implacable. 
It  had  been  appealing.  In  heaven's  name  what 
could  he  do  for  such  a  creature  as  she?  It  was  she 
who  could  do  much  for  him. 

He  did  not  very  well  know  what  else  Rader  said 
to  him.  His  thoughts  beat  this  way  and  that,  boiled 
up  with  his  exasperations,  retreated  before  the  mem- 
ory of  the  girl's  face,  bore  forward  toward  success, 
with  all  the  nature  of  the  man  to  press  on.  He  put 
up  the  pony  in  the  stable,  took  off  the  bandage  from 
his  head,  and  walked  back  to  the  house  with  some 
vague,  surface  idea  of  going  up-stairs,  cleaning  up, 
getting  a  bath.  The  house  was  still.  This  time 
there  was  no  one  on  the  veranda.  He  walked  slowly 
along  to  the  living-room  door,  opened  it,  went  in, 
with  a  quickening  pulse.  No  one  there.  A  pair 
of  scissors  and  a  pin-cushion  were  upon  the  table. 
She  had  fled.  From  what?  He  wondered  what  she 
was  afraid  of.  He  had  not  wanted  to  frighten  her. 
He  only  wanted  to  find  her.  He  went  out  into  the 
hall,  that  hall  of  many  doors.  The  late  day  made  it 
dark,  and  only  by  the  pale,  shining,  neutral  illumina- 
tion could  he  see  that  one  of  these  doors  was  half 

191 


SON    OF    THE   WIND 

open.     He  moved  it  back  noiselessly  upon  its  hinge 
and  looked. 

He  was  in  the  little  sewing-room  where  he  had 
seen  her  the  morning  he  had  proposed  their  ride. 
Here,  too,  twilight  was  gathered.  The  walls  were 
dusky,  the  furniture  dim ;  only  at  the  window  a  light 
came;  and  here,  close  to  it,  Blanche  Rader  was  sit- 
ting, sewing.  Her  gown  was  white,  and  flowed  off 
into  shadow.  She  did  not  move  when  he  came  in, 
she  did  not  quiver  an  eyelash,  her  hands  did  not 
cease  their  regular  motion.  Softly,  so  as  not  to 
startle  her  into  consciousness  of  his  presence,  he 
entered  and  sat  down  in  a  chair  farthest  from  her, 
deepest  in  shadow. 

From  here  he  saw  her  face  in  profile.  Her  head 
was  bent  and  held  a  little  to  one  side.  The  last  of 
the  day  shone  on  the  curve  of  her  chin,  the  curve 
of  her  lips,  lay  upon  her  forehead,  found  bronze  in 
her  hair,  and  touched  the  edge  of  her  red  ribbon  to 
fire.  Her  shoulders  drawn  a  little  forward  by  their 
task  and  the  turn  of  her  long  throat  lent  something 
pathetic  to  her  aspect.  Her  hands  rapidly  drew  the 
thread  in  and  out.  He  watched  her.  He  was  weary 
with  exertion,  aching  with  the  cut  on  his  head.  He 
was  an  expert  plainsman,  had  lost  two  days  and 
was  no  nearer  the  object  of  his  search,  nor  the 
way  of  reaching  it,  than  he  had  been  at  first.  This 

192 


THE   WINDOW    OF    THE    SPHINX 

girl,  curled  over  her  sewing,  had  it  all  in  her  head. 
Deep  hidden  she  kept  it  and  hugged  the  secret.  To 
her  it  had  been  given  to  see  a  wonder,  rarely  seen, 
even  by  night-walking  foresters  or  leafy  dwellers 
outside  the  law.  Had  she  been  abroad  at  moonset, 
that  such  a  chance  had  befallen  her,  or  at  that  bright 
Greek  interval  before  the  sunrise?  What  way  had 
she  followed?  What  way  could  a  woman  follow 
where  he  had  found  none?  From  what  place  had 
she  looked — the  cap  of  a  mountain,  an  eyrie  of 
trees,  or  up,  from  a  hollow  in  the  earth?  Her  eyes, 
fixed  now  on  the  flashing  needle,  had  looked  upon 
Son  of  the  Wind;  had  seen  him,  not  in  the  ter- 
rors of  flight,  but  in  the  splendor  of  his  trampling, 
unafraid  approach.  Yes,  and  they  would  see  him 
again.  That  was  the  thought  that  spurred.  Could 
a  man  but  take  her,  and  break  her  knowledge  out  of 
her,  as  wine  out  of  a  glass. 

He  saw  her  hands  were  moving  faster,  with  a 
nervous  intensity ;  her  breast  was  rising  and  falling 
with  quick,  short  breaths.  There  was  a  quiver  of 
her  underlip  and  she  took  it  between  her  teeth.  The 
idea  came  to  him  that  she  was  aware  of  his  pres- 
ence. She  knew  that  he  was  there,  sitting  and  star- 
ing at  her.  She  must  have  known  from  the  very 
first.  The  failing  light  added  to  the  mystery  be- 
tween them.  Why  hadn't  she  spoken  ?  Why  didn't 

193 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

she  speak  now  ?  Her  fingers  shook,  but  they  flew  for 
a  wager.  What  could  he  say,  since  something  must 
be  said?  She  was  trembling,  relaxed  as  if  expectant 
of  something — what,  he  did  not  know.  That  con- 
sciousness she  had  of  him,  the  curious  dread  that 
tied  her  tongue,  gave  him  the  knowledge  that  now 
was  his  time — now  he  had  power  over  her. 

He  got  to  his  feet.  With  the  movement,  the 
motion  of  her  hands  stopped.  They  held  the  work 
up  nervously.  Her  head  lifted,  dropped  back  a 
little.  She  did  not  look  at  him.  He  started  toward 
her  with  still  the  great  question  on  his  tongue. 
Where  that  question  went  he  did  not  know.  He 
reached  her  and  she  was  on  her  feet.  Had  she 
risen  to  meet  him,  or  had  he  drawn  her  up  by  the 
hands?  He  did  not  know.  Her  hands  were  in 
his,  both  hands  in  his  one.  At  the  touch  other 
thought  slipped  away  from  him.  He  knew  himself 
trembling,  and  was  not  surprised.  With  the  first 
breath  of  her  hair — that  faint,  sweet  personal  per- 
fume— he  understood  the  peril.  He  felt  the  noose 
of  the  charm  descending  upon  him.  He  felt,  before 
he  touched  her  lips,  the  approach  of  an  unknown 
emotion. 


194 


CHAPTER  IX 

MRS.  RADER  HAS  A  WORD  TO  SAY 

THEY  drew  back  a  little  and  looked  at  each 
other  with  startled  eyes — people  who  have  been 
awake,  now  in  a  dream.  Like  a  dream  he  saw  blue 
iris  just  beneath  his  gaze,  a  dull  wave  of  hair,  white 
hands  in  the  dusk,  and  felt  a  hurrying  heart.  The 
heavenly  interval  of  wonder  was  upon  him,  when 
desire  halts,  abashed  at  the  miracle.  Why  should 
she  suddenly  twist  herself  from  him  as  if  he  had 
become  an  enemy?  She  had  turned  to  him  will- 
ingly, not  caught,  not  yielding,  but  giving  herself. 
Why  shatter  the  divine,  unconscious  moment?  It 
was  his  surprise  that  released  her ;  his  instinct  caught 
at  her  to  keep  her,  but  caught  only  her  dress.  The 
weak  stuff  tore  in  his  hand.  The  work-box  on  the 
edge  of  the  table  overturned.  A  shower  of  little  ob- 
jects fell,  ringing  and  scattering  on  the  floor.  She 
slid  through  his  fingers.  Her  skirt  whipped  around 
the  door.  He  trod  on  needles  in  the  dark,  and,  curs- 
ing, felt  some  dreadful,  soft  little  thing,  which  was  a 
pin-cushion,  beneath  his  feet. 

The  sound  of  the  door  behind  him  closing  made 
195 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

him  face  about.  That  door  had  been  shut  when  he 
came  into  the  room.  Now  Mrs.  Rader  was  stand- 
ing just  within  it,  her  hand  resting  on  the  knob.  It 
had  scarcely  ceased  to  vibrate  with  concussion;  her 
gown  still  fluttered  back  with  her  motion  just  ar- 
rested, but  arrested  by  something  that  had  startled 
lier.  In  the  gloom  her  face  was  a  mere  white 
shadow,  with  dark  shadows  for  eyes;  no  expression 
to  read,  but  the  intense,  fixed  poise  of  the  head  had 
significance.  Carron  suffered  pure  panic.  He  kept 
himself  standing  where  he  was  only  by  an  effort  of 
will.  He  was  ready  on  the  spot  for  all  the  con- 
demnation woman,  can  call  down  on  man's  head, 
ready  to  commit  himself  to  anything  to  rescue  the 
unhappy  situation.  He  looked  at  her  and  smiled. 

"I  have  upset  your  daughter's  work-basket,"  he 
said,  and,  going  down  on  his  knees,  began  to  grope 
on  the  dark  floor,  gathering  spools.  Mrs.  Rader  did 
not  speak;  and  in  that  horrid  interval  while  he 
pricked  his  fingers,  and  felt  the  coursing  of  the 
blood  in  his  ears,  what  reason  he  had  left  reasserted 
itself.  She  had  not  seen  the  kiss — that  unpremedi- 
tated moment.  She  had  come  in  too  late.  She  had 
seen,  perhaps,  her  daughter's  flight  through  the  door, 
heard  the  crash  of  the  basket,  sensed  all  through  the 
room  the  disturbance,  the  crisis  just  past.  But  at 
least  she  had  not  seen  it  I  His  courage  rose.  His 

196 


MRS.    RADER   HAS   A   WORD   TO    SAY  ' 

anxiety  was  to  shield  the  girl  in  her  moment  of 
what  might  appear  her  weakness  in  the  eye  of  her 
own  sex.  He  looked  up.  Mrs.  Rader  was  standing 
close  to  him,  leaning  on  the  table,  looking  down  at 
him  with  irresolute  face. 

"I  am  sorry  I  couldn't  get  word  to  you  about  last 
night,"  he  said,  rising,  speaking  as  cheerfully  as  if 
this  was  the  only  question  that  could  be  between 
them.  "I  am  afraid  from  what  Mr.  Rader  said  that 
not  knowing  when  to  expect  me  has  inconvenienced 
you." 

"Oh,  no — not  inconvenienced!  Only  we  were 
afraid — "  she  raised  her  hand  to  the  hat  she  wore, 
a  man's  hat,  which  perhaps  she  had  hastily  pulled 
on  when  she  ran  to  her  neighbors  to  ask  news  of 
him.  "Mr.  Carron — "  she  began. 

"Never  worry  over  a  hunter,  even  if  he  doesn't 
show  up  for  a  week,"  he  reassured  her,  setting  the 
work-box  back  on  the  table.  "The  only  thing  to  con- 
sider is  what  they  bring  back,  and  I  offer  my  humble 
apologies  for  coming  empty-handed."  He  swung 
around  on  his  heel. 

"Mr.  Carron,"  she  was  just  behind  him.  Her  look 
was  anything  but  the  virago.  It  was  timid,  as  if  she 
were  afraid  of  him,  or  else  afraid  of  herself. 

"I  present  a  figure,"  he  explained,  "that  would 
never  do  to  show  at  your  dinner  table.  I  have  just 

197 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

startled  Miss  Rader  by  showing  myself  in  my  de- 
plorable state  of  mud.  I've  got  to  hurry,  if  I'm  go- 
ing to  change." 

"I  must  speak  to  you!"  The  voice  went  through 
his  ears.  There  was  no  escape  after  all.  He  shut 
his  teeth  together  and  turned  about  to  face  the  situ- 
ation. 

Evidently  she  had  driven  herself  to  a  point  outside 
her  ordinary  capacity.  Her  eyes  were  the  only  brave 
thing  in  her,  but  they  commanded  her  face.  "Would 
it  make  much  difference  to  you  to  cut  your  week 
here  a  little  short  ?  Would  you  mind  finishing  some- 
where else?" 

This  was  more  definite  than  he  had  expected,  but 
it  was  a  delicate  way  of  putting  the  thing,  almost 
like  a  man's.  He  appreciated  her  reserve,  but  there 
were  two  reasons  which  presented  to  him  the  awk- 
ward necessity  of  remaining  where  he  was.  "Of 
course,"  he  answered,  "if  you  ask  it,  I  shall  go  at 
once.  I  understood  it  was  a  special  exception  to  a 
rule  that  took  me  in,  and  that  was  very  good  of  you. 
But  there  is  no  use  saying  it  won't  make  a  difference 
to  me  if  I  have  to  leave.  I'm  afraid  you've  rather 
spoiled  me  here.  I've  grown  very  fond  of  this  place, 
and  I  like  you — and  Mr.  Rader."  He  waited.  Her 
eyes  fixed  him  with  distress,  but  without  any  relent- 
ing. It  was  a  deadlock.  "I  don't  doubt  that  a  man 

198 


MRS.    RADER    HAS    A   WORD    TO    SAY 

is  in  the  way  while  women  are  going  over  a  house," 
he  added. 

She  murmured,  "O  no !  You  helped  us  more  than 
I  can  say !  That  is  one  reason  why  I  didn't  want  you 
to — on  account  of  what  I'm  having  to  ask  you.  I 
don't  know  what  you  will  think  of  me !" 

"I  shan't  think  anything  startling,"  he  assured  her 
lightly;  but  indeed  he  did  not  know  what  to  think. 
He  knew  her  attitude  of  mind  had  not  been  born 
suddenly  of  this  moment's  suspicions.  It  was  the 
culmination  of  a  feeling  which  had  been  hers  in  the 
past,  which  had  been  constant  toward  him  from  the 
first,  before  he  saw  Blanche  Rader,  before  he  even 
knew  Blanche  Rader  existed.  Though  his  mind 
might  dart  and  turn,  the  significance  of  it  was  bewil- 
dering to  fathom.  "I  am  sorry  if  I  have  done  any- 
thing to  offend  you,"  he  said. 

"You  haven't.  You  have  been  most  kind.  We 
all  like  you  very  much.  You  must  have  noticed  how 
Mr.  Rader  is.  He  is  quite  changed  since  you  came 
— waked  up.  You  have  such  a  way!"  Her  voice 
dropped  as  she  added  below  her  breath,  "That  is 
just  the  trouble." 

Carron  stared  at  this  cryptic  sentence. 

"You  are  a  stranger  to  me,  and  you  are  a  man 
who  has  come  from  out  in  the  world,"  she  contin- 
ued, looking  at  him  squarely.  "Not  many  such  come 

199 


SON   OF   THE   .WIND 

up  here ;  and  as  soon  as  I  saw  you  I  felt  sure  you  had 
not  come  for  the  hunting.  But  how  could  I  come  to 
you  then — a  stranger — and  speak  of  it?  I  don't  see 
how  I  can  do  it  now !  But  you  were  so  kind  about 
helping  us  day  before  yesterday,  and  doing  every- 
thing that  was  hard,  I  saw — at  least  I  thought  that, 
if  I  asked  you,  you  might  not  take  advantage  of  it, 
at  least  for  her  sake!  That,  if  I  asked  you,  you 
might  go." 

Carron  stood  amazed,  puzzled,  floored  by  these 
halting,  breathless  sentences,  and  the  confused  sug- 
gestions they  conveyed.  He  had  to  search,  to  put 
the  thing  together  to  make  anything  at  all ;  and  then 
he  wras  amused  at  the  sublime  egoism  of  women  that 
supposes  each  move  a  man  makes  to  be  drawn  by 
the  magnet  woman.  But  he  was  also  a  little  in- 
dignant. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Rader,  I  have  not  come  here  on 
your  daughter's  account.  I  had  never  seen  her 
before,  and  I  have  no  wish  to  thrust  my  atten- 
tions upon  her!"  Absurd  inconsistency  while  his 
lips  were  still  hot  with  memories  of  the  girl's !  Yet 
it  was  true  enough,  he  had  had  no  "intentions"  as 
far  as  Blanche  Rader  was  concerned.  The  only  in- 
tention he  was  aware  of  now  was  a  wish  to  keep  her 
name  out  of  the  talk  at  any  cost.  He  cemented 
safety.  "I  have  had  no  thought  except  that  she  was 

200 


MRS.    RADER    HAS    A    WORD    TO    SAY 

very  kind  and  gracious  to  me  as  to  a  guest,  I  give 
you  my  word !" 

Mrs.  Rader's  face  was  strange.  "I  know  you  have 
not,"  she  said. 

That  singular  intonation  rang  ominously  to  his 
ear.  He  had  a  dread  lest  the  woman  was  on  the 
verge  of  some  reckless  revelation,  lest  she  should 
sweep  him,  on  the  tide  of  it,  farther  than  he  wanted 
to  be  carried.  "Very  well,  I  will  make  my  arrange- 
ments to  go  to  Beckwith  to-morrow  morning,"  he 
said  coldly. 

At  that  he  heard  the  sharp  intake  of  her  breath. 
"Won't  you  go  farther  away  than  that?  Won't  you 
go  quite  away,  quite  out  of  the  county?" 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Rader,"  he  burst  forth,  irritated 
beyond  control  by  the  woman's  insistence,  and  the 
quandary  it  placed  him  in,  "don't  you  expect  rather 
too  much?" 

"What  difference  will  it  make  to  you,"  she  de- 
manded despairingly,  "where  you  hunt,  when  all 
through  these  counties  the  game  is  much  the  same  ? 
But  it  makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world  to  me — 
and  to  her.  I  have  been  to  her.  I  have  tried  to  show 
her,  to  make  her — think !  Do  you  suppose  I  haven't 
done  everything,  wouldn't  do  anything  rather  than 
come  to  you  ?  But  nothing  moves  her  when  she  gets 
an  idea  in  her  head,  when  she  wants  something ;  and 

20 1 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

she  has  only  seen  the  boys  hereabouts,  and  one  or 
two  men  who  come  here  in  the  summer.  She  has  al- 
ways been  able  to  do  what  she  likes  with  them.  You 
have  seen  how  she  twists  poor  Bert  Ferrier.  But  you 
are  different ;  you  are  her  match !  I'm  afraid  you're 
more  than  that.  That  is  why  I  have  come  to  you." 

Dismayed  and  scarlet,  Carron  had  an  instinct  to 
beat  off  the  woman's  words  like  enemies.  "It's  ab- 
surd, ridiculous!  You  misjudge  her,  Mrs.  Rader. 
She's  never  had  a  thought.  Why,  she  doesn't  care 
a  flip  of  her  ringer  for  me !"  Ferrier's  words !  Out 
of  Carron's  mouth ! 

"If  you  haven't  noticed  it,"  Mrs.  Rader  said  slow- 
ly, "you  are  the  only  one."  The  small  square  of  the 
window  was  growing  grayer  behind  her.  The  two  of 
them  had  become  to  each  other  mere  voices  in  the 
dark ;  only  in  her  intensity,  the  woman  showed  now 
and  then  a  gesture  against  the  pale  glimmer  of  glass. 
"She  hasn't  been  herself  quite,  since  that  first  morn- 
ing. Do  you  suppose  she  takes  as  much  time  for  most 
men  ?  Do  you  suppose  she.  goes  out  riding  all  the 
morning  whenever  some  one  asks  her  ?  Do  you  sup- 
pose she  makes  the  rooms  so  pretty  for  Bert  Ferrier 
to  play  whist?  She  is  very  cold  and  very  difficult 
with  most.  O,  she's  clever — much  cleverer  than  I 
with  people;  and  she  can  keep  them  at  a  distance. 
As  long  as  she  isn't  interested  I  know  she's  safe — 

202 


MRS.    RADER    HAS    A   WORD   TO    SAY 

and  she  has  never  been  interested  in  any  one  before ! 
But  as  soon  as  I  saw  you,  I  knew  you  were — "  She 
was  rushing  upon  it  with  the  appalling  passion  of 
women  for  revealing  truths  which  are  intended  to 
remain  hidden,  which  can  not  bear  the  light,  before 
which  men  recoil  and  quail. 

"Mrs.  Rader,"  he  broke  in,  "I  can  not  let  you 
think  it.  I  assure  you  you're  entirely  mistaken. 
Your  daughter  is — "  He  paused  before  the  thought 
of  what  Blanche  Rader  was.  He  was  amazed  that 
the  mother  could  be  so  oblivious  of  it.  "She  is  abso- 
lutely disinterested  where  I'm  concerned,"  he  said 
flatly,  and  for  the  moment  bitterly  believed  it. 
"Don't  suppose  anything  else,"  he  added,  looking 
squarely  into  the  woman's  face,  still  skeptical  and 
unconvinced.  "I  am  sure  neither  she  nor  I  have  had 
any  intention  that  could  alarm  you." 

"I  don't  think  people  always  know  what  they  in- 
tend, or  even  what  they  are  doing,"  Mrs.  Rader  said. 

Carron  waved  exasperated  arms.  "I  promise  you 
I  will  be  off  to-morrow  morning,  if  that  reassures 
you  at  all;  but  I  can  not  promise  to  go  out  of  the 
county.  That's  nonsense!"  Would  she  never  dismiss 
him  ?  Didn't  she  know  how  ?  Was  he  to  stand  there 
without  hearing  an  answer,  enduring  her  look  for 
ever,  feeling  sorry  for  her,  and  angry  with  himself 
for  feeling  sorry,  because  that  keen  instinct  that 

203 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

speaks  the  truth  told  him  that  as  far  as  he  was  con- 
cerned she  was  all  wrong? 

She  turned  without  a  word,  crossed  the  room  and 
closed  the  door  after  her.  If  she  had  stayed  longer 
he  would  have  lost  his  temper — perhaps  even  his 
nerve. 

He  felt  more  shaken  than  if  he  had  been  through 
a  fight. 

He  was  turned  out  emphatically  by  a  timid,  reso- 
lute woman.  For  what  reason?  In  the  dark  the 
thought  made  him  hot. 

Why  should  she  take  it  for  granted  that  the  girl 
was  in  danger  from  him?  What  sort  of  creature 
did  she  think  him — invulnerable,  iron,  deadly  ?  Did 
she  think  he  was  in  no  danger  himself?  He  knew 
now  he  was  worse  than  in  danger,  hopelessly,  finally 
carried  beyond  rescue.  He  had  defended  the  girl  as 
he  had  been  bound  to  do  by  the  intolerable  circum- 
stance; but  now  it  seemed  to  him  that  it  had  been 
ill  done.  Suppose  she  told  her  mother  of  what  had 
happened !  It  was  not  probable ;  but  think — if  Mrs. 
Rader  rehearsed  his  words  to  Blanche  what  a  cad 
the  girl  would  think  him  then !  And  he  was  to  leave 
to-morrow,  without  a  chance  to  explain  to  her. 
Explain !  Good  Lord !  Something  that  he  could  not 
explain  to  himself! 

He  stared  into  the  dark  with  fiery  thoughts.  There 
204 


MRS.   RADER   HAS  'A  WORD   TO    SAY 

had  been  a  question  he  had  started  to  ask  about  a 
horse.  That  would  have  to  wait  now  until  this  thing 
of  immediate  importance  was  settled — the  wretched 
uncertainty  of  what  she  thought  of  him.  Mrs.  Ra- 
der's  words  had  sounded  impossible  when  they  had 
been  naked  and  uttered ;  but  they  flowed  back  to  his 
memory  now  with  a  sweet  resurgence.  He  was 
buoyed  up  and  carried  off  his  logical  footing,  spun 
around  in  eddies  of  emotion,  set  down  suddenly  on 
the  hard  sand  of  doubt,  cold  with  the  subsidence  of 
his  hopes.  What  difference  did  it  make  what  Blanche 
had  thought  of  him  before  that  wonderful  moment, 
when,  after  it,  she  had  torn  herself  away  from  him; 
when,  by  the  last  glance  of  her  eyes,  she  had  hated 
him? 

He  went  out  upon  the  side  veranda.  Light  was 
not  yet  kindled  in  the  kitchen  windows.  The  dinner 
would  be  late.  He  went  up  the  outside  stair  and 
passed  through  his  room  without  stopping.  He 
walked  a  little  way  down  the  upper  hall,  turning  his 
back  upon  the  ascending  inner  stair.  A  window 
at  the  end  showed  him  the  influence  of  the  moon, 
now  beginning  to  shine  and  make  herself  felt  above 
the  twilight.  The  light,  diffused  and  gray,  was  still 
enough  for  him  to  see  the  door  he  wanted.  His  foot 
touched  a  small,  dark  object  crouched  in  front  of  it. 
The  dog,  Beetles,  was  pressed  against  it  with  his 

205 


SON    OF    THE   WIND 

nose  flung  up  to  the  crack  and  his  tail  beating  the 
floor.  This  little  creature  was  accustomed  to  run  in 
and  out  of  Blanche's  room  at  all  hours,  taking  liber- 
ties with  her  time  and  her  good  nature.  Now  he 
snuggled  and  scratched  the  obstinate  wood  and 
complained.  He  paid  no  attention  to  the  man's 
whistling  to  him,  under  breath.  He  knew  no  divided 
mind  had  one  object. 

Carron  knocked  very  softly.  Not  a  stir  from  with- 
in. He  knocked  again,  as  softly,  but  repeatedly.  This 
time  a  smothered  voice  spoke. 

"Who  is  there?" 

The  dog  went  into  ecstasies  of  expectation.  Car- 
ron did  not  reply ;  that  would  have  been  the  end.  He 
only  knocked.  This  time  he  heard  a  step.  It  came 
slowly  and  stopped  just  on  the  other  side  of  the  pan- 
els. She  must  have  put  her  mouth  to  the  crack,  so 
plainly  the  words  came. 

"What  do  you  want  ?" 

The  soft,  insistent  sound  of  his  knuckles  upon  the 
wood,  so  close  to  her,  evidently  became  more  than 
her  nerves  could  bear.  Suddenly  she  flung  open 
the  door.  The  dog  sprang,  leaping  upon  her;  up, 
and,  falling  back,  up  again  with  the  tireless  resur- 
gence of  a  fountain.  Carron  stood  still.  "What  do 
you  want?"  she  repeated,  still  in  that  smothered 
voice,  as  if  some  muffling  thing  was  invisibly  across 

206 


MRS.    RADER    HAS    A   WORD    TO    SAY 

her  mouth.  She  looked  at  him  and  she  did  not  look  at 
him. 

"Come  down-stairs,"  he  said. 

She  made  a  negative  motion  of  the  head. 

"Come  along,"  he  insisted,  "I  have  something  to 
say  to  you." 

His  voice,  so  calmly  taking  it  for  granted  that  she 
would;  his  face,  which  revealed  something  of  his. 
crisis,  seemed  to  make  her  obstinacy  hesitate.  "No. 
I  should  have  to  see  people." 

"No ;  you  will  see  only  me.  We'll  go  outside."  He 
took  her  by  the  hand,  drew  her  through  the  door  and 
closed  it  after  her.  But,  alone  with  him  in  the  hall, 
she  seemed  to  be  taken  with  a  keener,  more  incoher- 
ent alarm. 

"I  can't  go  down !  I  can't  go  out !  I'm  afraid  that 
some  one  will  see  us !"  He  looked  at  her  in  amaze- 
ment— she,  so  sure  of  herself,  to  fall  into  a  panic. 

"No  one  will.  We  can  go  through  my  room  and 
down  the  outside  stair." 

"No!  no!" 

"Come,  don't  be  foolish." 

"But  they  can  see  us  from  the  kitchen  windows." 

"Very  well !  Is  there  any  place  in  the  house,  then, 
where  they  can't,  where  we  can  be  undisturbed  for  a 
few  minutes?" 

She  looked  about,  hesitated,  gave  him  a  glance,, 
207 


SON    OF    THE   WIND 

half  frightened  and  half  reckless.  "Yes,  over  here." 
She  started  down  the  hall,  toward  the  window, 
through  which  the  moonlight  came. 

He  followed,  perplexed.  Here  in  the  hall  there  was 
not  a  chair  to  sit  in,  and  all  was  m  plain  view  from 
one  end  to  the  other.  She  went  on  toward  the  little 
pane  of  glass  as  if  she  fancied  she  could  float 
through  it  like  a  ghost;  but  fairly  upon  it  she 
stopped,  took  hold  of  a  knob,  and  what  had  appeared 
as  a  window  opened  into  a  door,  like  the  door  in  his 
room,  with  an  upper  transparent  half.  They  passed 
out  of  it  into  a  balcony.  It  was  like  coming  out  upon 
the  edge  of  the  world. 

No  steps  led  down  from  here,  no  roof  was  over 
them.  The  place  hung  in  air,  a  poor,  neglected 
loggia,  before  the  eye  of  night.  In  front  of  them 
were  wooden  pailings,  imitating  Italian  balustrade. 
At  one  end  stood  a  rattan  couch,  bleached  by  f  ront> 
ing  many  winters. 

"Sit  down  here,"  Carron  said. 

She  took  a  place  near  one  end,  a  conscious  distance 
from  him,  sitting  at  the  other.  The  dog  lay  down, 
pressed  against  her  feet.  Above  their  heads  a  thin 
and  gauzy  fan  of  clouds  was  spread  in  the  sky,  and 
the  moon  looked  through  it.  The  balcony  faced  from 
the  back  of  the  house,  and  at  this  point  the  ground 
fell  away  sharply,  so  that  instead  of  looking  into 

208 


MRS.    RADER   HAS    A   WORD   TO    SAY 

pines,  they  looked  over  them  and  saw  a  glimpse  of 
distance.  There  was  a  wonderful  play  of  silver  upon 
these  tree-tops,  in  hollow  and  hill  of  the  moving, 
leafy  surface — aisles  of  floating  brightness,  spark- 
ling plains  which  were  clearer  for  lying  on  the  edge 
of  shadow,  lovelier  because  nowhere  was  the  liquid 
brilliance  of  bare  moonlight.  All  before  them  shone 
as  in  an  enchanted  veil. 

The  mystery  was  upon  the  girl's  face,  too. 
It  was  not  beautiful  now,  yet  this  made  no  dif- 
ference to  him.  He  saw  the  traces  of  fatigue  and 
of  watching,  perhaps  of  tears.  What  if,  as  her 
mother  had  said,  she  had  watched  and  waited  for 
him  ?  He  leaned  forward,  elbows  on  knees.  The  im- 
portant thing  he  had  had  to  say  to  her  was  just  this 
— to  be  with  her.  To  be  with  her  for  hours  with 
nothing  to  explain  or  ask.  To  be  with  her  in  per- 
fection of  unconsciousness,  of  confidence,  as  they 
had  been;  not  in  this  discord,  so  cruelly  out  of  key 
with  the  beautiful  country,  the  veil  of  wonder  over 
it,  and  the  wonder  in  his  heart.  If  only  he  could 
unknit  those  gathered  brows,  make  bend  the  guarded 
line  of  the  lips,  open  the  eyes  upon  him  with  the  un- 
defensive  sweetness  they  had  shown  him  under  the 
cedars,  in  the  candle-light,  even  in  the  shadow  of  the 
stable  that  morning  when  he  had  been  so  careless  of 
her  that  he  had  scarcely  glanced  at  her !  The  mem- 

209 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

ory  that  went  yet  further  back,  of  how  she  had  pulled 
herself  from  her  mother's  hand  on  the  day  of  their 
ride  and  come  toward  him,  remained  the  sweetest, 
most  unhappy  thought.  Now  she  was  like  a  door 
locked  against  him;  like  a  house,  dark.  All  the 
strength  in  her  seemed  gathered  together  to  exclude 
him.  Each  time  he  stirred  he  could  feel  her  start,  as 
if,  of  all  things,  his  touch  was  what  she  most 
dreaded. 

"You  are  making  a  bad  mistake  about  us,  aren't 
you?"  he  said.  "You  seem  to  think  that  what  hap- 
pened down-stairs  a  little  while  ago  was  very  ter- 
rible." 

She  was  silent. 

"I  thought  it  was  beautiful." 

"I  don't  want  to  talk  about  it,"  she  said,  under 
her  breath. 

"Neither  do  I — but  I  must.  I  can't  stand  the  way 
you  look  at  me — as  if  I  were  a  beast ;  and  I'm  not — 
to  you!"  He  floundered,  helpless  to  explain  himself. 
"I  didn't  mean  to  frighten  you.  I  only  meant — " 

"I  don't  in  the  least  care  what  you  meant,"  she  in- 
terrupted, with  a  hard,  dry  voice,  she  seemed  to 
gather  from  her  chest. 

"Yes,  you  do!"  Carron  said  fiercely.  She  was 
trying  to  build  up  a  wall  between  them,  and  he 
would  have  it  down.  "You  don't  tell  me  you  were 

2IO 


MRS.    RADER   HAS    A   WORD   TO    SAY 

playing  then,  when  we — a  woman  like  you 
wouldn't !" 

"I  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing." 

"You  did."  He  would  not  let  her  off  so  easily. 
"We  both  knew  a  good  deal  better  then  than  we  do 
now,  when  we  are  talking  so  much  about  it.  I  hadn't 
seen  you  for  two  days — how  could  I  tell  how  I 
was  going  to  be?  It  came — and  now  it's  done. 
And  everything  looks  different.  Can't  you  under- 
stand? I  have  never  felt  like  this  before.  I  didn't 
know  there  was  such  a  feeling !  This  isn't  the  usual' 
thing,  and  you  know  it." 

Her  eyes,  half  lifted,  took  this  in  with  a  long,  si- 
lent regard,  without  expressing  a  spark  of  what  she 
hid,  without  visible  change — glide  of  iris,  or  flutter 
of  lashes — gradually  a  new  expression  appeared  in 
them.  "You  weren't  like  this  then !"  she  said. 

"Down-stairs?  I  was." 

She  shook  her  head.  "You  were  strange!  All 
last  night,  all  to-day,  I  had  been  afraid  that  some- 
thing had  happened  to  you."  She  jerked  out  the 
words  in  rapid,  breathless  sentences.  "Because,  last 
night,  we  were  to  go  out  to  the  Witch's  Spindle; 
and  I  knew  something  must  have  happened,  or  you 
wouldn't  have  stayed  away.  Then,  when  I  saw  you 
— and  your  head  hurt — I  knew,  of  course!  And  I 
would  have  come  to  you,  but  you  frightened  me,  you 

211 


SON   OF   THE  WIND 

looked  so  angry.  I  couldn't  understand  it ;  and  when 
you  came  into  the  sewing-room,  as  though  you 
thought  I  did  not  hear  you,  and  sat  there  looking  at 
me  so  hard,  I  didn't  know — I  couldn't  think  what  I 
had  done,  but  it  seemed  to  me  I  had  done  you  some 
injury,  some  cruel  injury!  And  when  you — " 

"Never  mind  that,"  Carron  said.  For  a  mo- 
ment, instead  of  the  girl's  face  before  him,  he  saw 
the  head  of  the  Sphinx.  It  rose  to  his  mind  like  a 
sign  of  his  failure  and  his  delay.  It  spoke  to  him  of 
necessities  of  times  and  ways  and  haste.  He  let  it 
sink  back,  beneath  memory. 

"Is  your  head  badly  hurt?"  she  asked  in  a  half 
voice,  and  he  felt  five  soft,  round  finger-tips  explor- 
ing in  his  hair. 

He  took  the  hand  and  drew  it  down.  "Look  here 
— I  have  never  been  angry  with  you.  How  could  I 
be?  I  wouldn't  do  anything  to  hurt  you  or  distress 
you  for  the  world.  You  know  that,  don't  you  ?" 

This  time  her  head  nodded. 

He  tipped  his  back  to  look  up  into  her  face,  a  little 
humorously.  "Then  am  I  forgiven  ?" 

"There  is  nothing  to  forgive." 

"Ah,  you're  right  about  that,"  he  said  quickly. 
"Didn't  you  know  that  in  the  first  place?"  She  be- 
came dumb.  "Did  you  think  I  was  an  easy  sort,  was 
that  way  with  most  women  ?" 

212 


MRS.   RADER   HAS   A   WORD   TO    SAY 

"No,  no,  I  didn't !  I  don't  know  what  I  thought ! 
I  can't  tell  you." 

"I  will  tell  you  anything  you  want  to  know,"  Car- 
ron  said.  "I'll  tell  you  what  I'm  thinking  now." 
But  indeed  he  was  not  thinking.  He  was  no  more 
thinking  than  a  swimmer  is  walking,  when,  just  over 
his  depth  in  water,  he  feels  his  chin  buoyed  up  and 
his  toes  scarcely  touching  the  sand.  In  all  his  logical, 
hard-worked  life  he  had  never  felt  any  sensation  so 
heavenly  as  this  one — of  being  set  afloat  in  the  warm 
tide  of  emotion.  His  hands  glided  around  hers.  He 
would  have  set  his  cheek  against  the  broad,  white 
arch  of  her  forehead. 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no,"  she  kept  murmuring,  a  shower 
of  protesting  little  words,  and  straining  away.  "I 
can't, — to-night!"  The  last  word  came  out  with  such 
force  that  it  had  to  be  answered. 

"Why  not?" 

"I  don't  know.    I  can't  think !" 

He  was  ready  to  laugh  at  such  an  excuse ;  but  the 
next  moment  he  was  made  to  listen. 

"I  will  not !"  with  a  sudden  passion  of  resolution. 

"Oh !"  He  clasped  his  hands  together  behind  him, 
held  them  tight,  and  looked  straight  before  him  into 
an  extraordinarily  blank  future.  He  knew  she  was 
watching  him.  "To-morrow — "  she  dropped  the 
little  word  tentatively,  timidly. 

213 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

The  sound  of  it  was  a  whip  to  him.  "To-morrow 
I  won't  be  here !"  He  saw  how  that  struck  her.  The 
thought  that  what  became  of  him  could  hurt  her, 
gave  him  pleasure.  "I  am  going  away  indefinitely," 
he  said.  Still  she  kept  looking  at  him  with  the  same 
blank  face  as  if  she  hardly  understood.  She  didn't 
speak.  He  could  see  no  change  of  expression,  but 
he  realized  a  chill  in  her  mood,  cold,  where  a  moment 
before  she  had  been  hot. 

"You  don't  suppose  I'm  going  because  I  want  to  ?" 
he  asked  indignantly. 

"I  hope  you  are  not  going  for  any  other  reason." 

The  tone  was  like  snow,  blank  and  pallid ;  but  the 
film  in  her  bright  eyes  might  be  suffering.  His  res- 
olution to  keep  Mrs.  Rader's  plea  to  him  a  secret, 
melted  at  the  sight.  "I  am  going  because  I've  been 
asked  to,"  he  said,  and  could  not  resist  a  grimace. 

She  gave  him  a  stare,  haughty  and  astonished.  A 
flag  of  color  flew  in  her  cheeks.  "What  do  you 
mean?" 

"Your  mother,"  Carron  said.  It  was  wonderful 
to  see  how  the  color  failed,  and  returned  again. 

"Did  she—?" 

"No,  she  didn't  see  anything — at  least  anything 
that  matters.  But,  as  perhaps  you  know,  she  came 
in  just  as  you  rushed  out ;  and,  well,  she  saw  there 
had  been  some  little  disturbance.  She's  never  had 

214 


MRS.    RADER    HAS    A   WORD    TO    SAY 

any  great  fancy  for  me,  thinks  I'm  a  poor  sort  of 
person  to  have  around,  and  I  believe  she  found  it  a 
good  opportunity  to  make  her  suggestion." 

"What  excuse  did  she  give?" 

Carron  felt  the  matter  was  assuming  an  alarming 
aspect.  "Well,  house-cleaning,  you  know.  Men  are 
rather  in  the  way." 

"After  you'd  helped  her!" 

"You  mustn't  fly  off  and  say  anything  about  this," 
he  protested,  "and  make  it  worse." 

"But  how  could  she  ?  What  right  has  she  to  inter- 
fere with  us?  I'm  of  age!" 

"Very  true,  and  all  that,  but  don't  you  see  I  can't 
argue  the  point  with  her?  When  a  woman  asks  you 
to  get  out,  you  can't  ask  for  reasons." 

"But  I  can,"  Blanche  rose.  The  bold  spirit,  which 
a  few  moments  ago  had  seemed  to  be  shaken  out  of 
her,  was  in  full  possession.  She  looked  ready  to 
storm  a  city. 

This  time  Carron  took  her  hand  too  firmly  for  any 
denial.  "You  will  not  do  anything  of  the  sort.  I've 
promised — and  there's  no  getting  out  of  it.  Go  to 
her  about  it,  and  you'll  only  make  her  think  me  a 
cad,  who  has  gone  to  you  to  get  you  to  beg  him  off." 

"I  won't  make  a  scene.    It  will  be  all  right." 

"But  I've  said  everything  any  human  being  could, 
in  decency.  Do  you  suppose  I  haven't?" 

215 


SON   OK   THE   WIND 

She  smiled ;  her  hand  was  on  the  door.  "Yes,  but 
I  haven't.  Come — hurry!" 

"Don't  go  in !"  he  begged.    "Let's  stay  out  here !" 

"No,  no!"  She  gave  a  quick  look  around  at  the 
little  balcony.  "Come !"  She  opened  the  door  hur- 
riedly and  fairly  pulled  him  through.  He  saw  she 
was  panting  as  if  in  a  new  fright. 

"Were  you  afraid  they  would  find  us?"  he  asked 
curiously. 

"No,"  she  scorned  him.  "Why  should  I  mind 
that?" 

"You  strange  girl,  you  did.  Just  a  little  while  ago, 
I  had  to  coax  you  to  get  you  to  come  out  with  me 
at  all." 

"O,  that  was  different,"  she  said.  They  were 
walking  together  down  the  moon-misted  hall. 

"Different?" 

"Yes.  I  was  afraid  of  them,  I  was  afraid  of  every- 
thing, because — " 

"Out  with  it!" 

The  fire  of  mischief,  and  of  something  larger 
looked  through  her  eyes.  "I  didn't  know  then  what 
you  thought  of  me."  She  ran  ahead  of  him  down 
the  stair. 

He  did  not  feel  certain  what  trouble  she  was  about 
to  plunge  him  into,  with  her  headlong  determination 

216 


MRS.    RADER    HAS    A   WORD   TO    SAY 

to  bend  her  mother's  resolute  mind.  He  could  think 
of  no  argument  subtle,  and  appealing  to  Mrs.  Ra- 
der's  hospitality  or  vanity  which  he  had  not  em- 
ployed himself,  and  quite  in  vain.  But  Blanche 
seemed  to  entertain  no  doubts  of  herself,  though  she 
entered  the  dining-room  late,  just  after  the  laggard 
scholar  was  seated;  could  not,  therefore,  have  al- 
ready interviewed  her  mother,  who  had  been  at 
table  when  Carron  first  came  in.  No  word  had  passed 
between  these  two,  while  they  waited  for  the  others. 
They  had  gone  beyond  the  banalities,  and  what  they 
had  had  to  say  of  importance  to  one  another  was 
finished.  Their  silence  was  austere.  The  girl  re- 
flected nothing  of  this,  but  kept  her  excited  eyes 
veiled,  and  combated  the  tendency  to  an  upward 
curl  of  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  Except  for  such 
Puck-like  manifestations  she  was  demure,  almost  si- 
lent, and  seemed  interested  in  her  dinner.  Rader  was 
the  one  of  that  curiously  mooded  quartet  who 
seemed  in  a  fund  of  talk. 

"So  you're  back !"  he  said  as  if  this  was  the  great- 
est personal  satisfaction  to  him,  and  reaching  lean, 
long  fingers  to  Carron,  shook  hands  on  the  event. 
Mrs.  Rader's  eyes  were  caught  by  the  sight  of  this, 
fascinated.  Blanche  looked  down. 

"I  suppose  these  women  have  fussed  over  you  to 
their  hearts'  content,"  the  scholar  continued.  "They 

217 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

are  very  free  with  the  plaster  even  if  you've  cut 
nothing  but  your  finger." 

"You  didn't  tell  me  you  were  hurt,"  Mrs.  Rader 
faltered. 

"I'm  not — nothing  but  a  bit  of  broken  skin."  He 
was  immensely  annoyed  the  matter  should  have  come 
up  at  all.  "I'd  forgotten  all  about  it." 

"Don't  you  want  some  arnica?"  She  seemed  on 
the  point,  then  and  there,  of  doing  her  conscience- 
smitten  best. 

"A  bottle  of  Burgundy  will  do  more  good,"  Rader 
determined.  "I  brought  some  up  to  celebrate."  He 
looked  a  little  puzzled  by  Carron's  cynical  regard. 
"It's  really  very  good,  '84,"  he  murmured.  He  hes- 
itated, sent  an  inquiring  glance  at  his  daughter,  just 
darted  and  withdrawn.  She  paid  no  attention  to  it ; 
didn't  seem  to  see  it.  "And  by  the  way,"  he  said, 
still  more  pointedly  to  Carron,  "if  you  have  any  time 
to-morrow  afternoon,  won't  you  come  in  and  see  my 
Spectators?  First  edition,  they  are  as  worth  while 
looking  at  as  anything  you  can  see." 

This  was  awkward.  "I  should  be  delighted,  but 
I'm  afraid  I  shall  be  away." 

"O,  take  a  day  off  between  whiles.  You're  played 
out.  A  couple  of  days  ago,  the  day  before  you  went, 
you  promised  me  you  would." 

Carron  couldn't  recall  this,  but  didn't  want  to 
218 


MRS.    RADER   HAS    A   WORD   TO    SAY 

deny.  He  felt  himself  cornered.  To  blurt  out  facts 
here  in  the  face  of  every  one  might  be  the  ruin  of 
Blanche's  schemes.  But  to  the  devil  with  a  woman's 
schemes !  He  was  sick  of  them !  They  never  ac- 
complished anything !  The  fact  would  be  out  in  the 
morning  anyway.  "I  mean  I  expect  to  leave  to- 
morrow, permanently,"  he  said.  "I  was  only  to  be 
here  for  a  week,  you  know." 

Rader  exclaimed  in  astonishment.  "But  it's  not  a 
week;  you  haven't  been  here  five  days!  What  are 
you  thinking  of?  Hermione,  do  you  hear  that?" 

She  looked  certainly  taken  aback,  much  dismayed. 
She  murmured,  "Perhaps  Mr.  Carron  would  be  more 
comfortable  in  a  house  that  wasn't  so  upset." 

"He'd  be  a  great  deal  less  comfortable  in  any  of 
the  other  places  around  here.  That's  no  reason  at 
all,"  Rader  declared  emphatically.  "Why  not  stay 
at  least  till  the  end  of  the  week?" 

For  the  first  time  since  the  subject  had  been 
opened  Blanche  looked  up.  "Why  shouldn't  Mr. 
Carron  stay  until  the  end  of  his  vacation?"  she  re- 
marked casually.  "It  is  only  two  weeks." 

The  poor  woman  looked  at  her  daughter  with  a 
defeated  eye.  She  seemed  to  be  conscious  of  the 
spirit  in  the  house,  the  trampling  spirit  of  youth  that 
was  conspiring  against  her,  beating  her  determina- 
tion down. 

219 


SON   OE  THE  [WIND 

"First  rate !"  Rader  acclaimed.  "And  perhaps  if 
these  women  are  through  making  you  move  sofas 
about,  you  wouldn't  mind  looking  at  my  windows 
and  tell  me  why  they  stick  so.  I  can't  open  them." 

Mrs.  Rader  made  a  horrified,  protesting  sound, 
while  her  daughter  shook  with  laughter. 

"I  could  regulate  the  weights  of  those  before  I  go 
in  the  morning,"  Carron  suggested.  He  felt  that  so 
much  was  only  decent. 

"Why  we  won't  have  such  talk,"  Rader  declared. 
"Hermione,  make  him  stay." 

Mrs.  Rader  flushed.  The  color  was  bright  in  her 
sensitive  face,  as  she  opened  her  mouth  to  pronounce 
the  required  words.  Carron  was  sorry  for  her — so 
sorry  that  it  seemed  almost  easier  to  refuse  the  re- 
quest which  went  no  deeper  than  the  lips.  But  it 
would  have  taken  a  prig  or  a  saint  to  perform  that 
part.  No  man  could  have  done  it,  with  the  girl  upon 
the  other  side  of  the  table,  her  mouth  of  such  a 
haughty  unconcern,  her  eyes  sending  such  shining, 
triumphant,  inexplicable  glances.  It  seemed  to  him 
they  had  both  been,  for  the  moment,  favorites  of 
fate. 

The  scholar,  with  the  Burgundy,  kept  him  sitting 
after  Mrs.  Rader  had  gone  into  the  kitchen.  Her 
daughter  rose  to  follow  her  out.  Carron  tried  to 
catch  her  eye.  She  ignored  him  and  he  heard  the 

220 


MRS.    RADER    HAS    A   WORD    TO    SAY 

rustle  of  her  passing  at  his  back.     Then  it  paused. 
That  incarnation  of  Puck  was  behind  his  chair. 

"Didn't  father  speak  his  part  beautifully?  Didn't 
I  do  that  nicely  ?"  she  whispered.  Then  went  off  on 
tiptoe,  unattainable  for  the  rest  of  the  evening. 


221 


CHAPTER  X 

WISDOM  SET  AT  NAUGHT 

L)VE,  who  engages  herself  to  be  the  impossible, 
and  performs  all  manner  of  valors  to  prove 
herself,  makes  her  appointments  at  unwonted  sea- 
sons. She  got  these  two  up  at  a  gray  hour,  when 
looking  at  the  sky  is  like  looking  up  into  a  pearl. 
With  nothing  so  gross  as  words  for  understanding 
they  foresaw  each  other's  impulse.  They  were  led 
out  and  found  each  other.  Voices  of  birds  were 
faintly  awakened  among  the  trees.  Large  shapes  of 
forests  and  mountains  had  not  yet  fallen  asleep  in  the 
sun.  The  world  around  them  had  the  still  face  of 
awe.  They  saw  it  as  a  background  for  each  other's 
face,  smiling  and  full  of  color,  full  of  the  rapture  of 
living.  The  moon  had  woven  no  illusions.  They 
were  not  to  be  disappointed.  They  suffered  no 
diminution  of  spirits  in  the  high,  even  light  and  wide 
spaces.  They  saw  each  other  real.  They  called  to 
each  other  from  a  distance,  and  ran  together  with  a 
thousand  questions. 

They  walked  down  the  sloping  floor  of  the  woods 
222 


WISDOM    SET   AT    NAUGHT. 

while  the  light  greatened  and  the  shadows  grew  darlc 
beneath  their  feet;  together,  near,  yet  not  near 
enough  for  touching,  released  from  everything  but 
each  other,  bound  to  each  other  and  not  knowing 
it.  Their  voices  flowed  together. 

"And  what  did  you  think  when  you  first  saw  me  ?" 

"I  thought  you  had  a  great  opinion  of  yourself 
and  had  come  up  here  for  some  important  reason — • 
perhaps  to  buy  the  place." 

"And  I  thought  you  were  two  people,  a  child  and 
a  woman.  I  think  so  still,  only  you  are  many  more 
persons  yet.  You  were  so  funny,  such  a  cool  hand, 
and  so  sophisticated." 

"O,  me !  I  didn't  feel  so.  I  was  quite  in  awe  of 
you,  even  before  I  saw  you,  to  hear  mother  talk." 

"She  didn't  want  me  to  stay?" 

"Yes,  she  did,  rather,  really ;  but  she  felt  as  T  did, 
you  see,  that  wherever  you  were  something  was 
bound  to  happen." 

"And  now  it  has?" 

She  smiled,  was  silent. 

"She  didn't  want  it  to?" 

"She  doesn't  know  you." 

Carron  had  a  thought  that  up  to  this  time  he  had 
not  known  himself. 

"She  thinks,  you  know,"  Blanche  explained,  "that 
you  and  I  are  still  only  strangers." 

223 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

"Then  she  doesn't  know,"  Carron  said,  quite 
gravely.  They  disposed  thus  of  caution  and  experi- 
ence. 

"But  I  don't  think  she'll  mind  so  much  now,  when 
she  gets  used  to  the  idea,"  Blanche  told  him.  "What 
did  she  say  to  you  afterward  ?" 

"Nothing.  You  wicked  girl !  to  make  her,  when 
she  hates  me !" 

"She  doesn't  hate  you,  she  only  has  a  silly  idea 
about  you;  that  you  are  a  terrible,  dangerous  per- 
son." 

"O,  ho,  and  didn't  you  have  some  such  idea  your- 
self?" 

"No."  They  could  laugh  together  about  it  now, 
so  much  had  grown  between  them,  through  the 
night,  while  they  had  not  seen  each  other.  "That 
was  quite  different." 

"Then  what  made  you  run  away  ?" 

"O,  that  was  because — " 

"Yes — because  ?" 

She  drooped,  looking  down.  "It  wasn't  you,  it 
was  myself  I  thought  was  terrible.  I  felt  as  if  I 
had  given  myself  away,  just  made  a  gift  of  myself, 
to  some  one  who  didn't  want  me." 

"Yes!  Think  of  my  taking  you  in  that  way! 
Think  of  my  taking  you  tolerantly,  forbearingly ! 
Why  I — "  He  would  have  shown  her  again  how  he 

224 


WISDOM    SET    AT    NAUGHT 

would  take  her,  but  it  was  "hands  off"  with  her  yet. 
She  would  permit  not  so  much  as  a  finger-tip.  This 
arbitrary  distance  she  imposed  between  them  kept  an 
uneasy  fog  of  distrusts  in  his  heart.  A  thought 
came,  like  a  black  shadow.  "How  about  Ferrier?'* 
he  said. 

She  opened  large  eyes,  as  if  to  take  in  a  presence 
so  small  to  her  mind  that  she  could  hardly  see  it. 
"Well,  what  of  him?" 

"Has  he  anything  to  say  about — this  ?" 

Humor  was  mixed  with  the  disdain  that  lifted  the 
corners  of  her  mouth.  "I  should  like  to  hear  him ! 
Why?"  The  resentment  of  outside  interference,  a 
tendency  overquick  in  her,  looked  out  at  him.  "Has 
mother  said  anything  to  you  about  him  ?" 

"Not  a  word,"  he  declared  hastily.  "I  only 
thought  from  the  way  he  behaved  the  night  we 
played  whist — " 

"How  did  he  behave?    I  didn't  notice  him." 

Carron  had  a  very  clear  memory  of  exactly  the 
way  Ferrier  had  looked,  backing  down  the  road  in 
the  half  moon's  light,  sending  back  his  warning. 
"Like  a  man  who  has  a  claim." 

"Well,  he  has  not !"  she  said  indignantly,  but  still 
with  an  impulse  to  smile,  as  if  she  could  scarcely  take 
the  matter  seriously.  "Poor  Bert!  I'm  afraid 
mother  is  a  little  responsible  for  the  way  he  feels; 

225 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

she  likes  him.  He's  so  harmless."  She  smiled  under- 
standingly  upon  Carron.  "He's  a  good  boy  to  her, 
fetches  and  carries,  when  he  isn't  sitting  around 
some  store,  reading  the  socialistic  weeklies.  And 
then,  he's  good-looking." 

"Good-looking !"  Was  that  her  translation  of  the 
appearance  of  the  knock-kneed  male!  Carron  ex- 
claimed in  his  mind  over  the  ideas  of  women.  "And 
you  don't  like  him?" 

"Well,  of  course,  I  can't  admire  Bert.  He's  weak. 
There  are  things  about  him  that  are  deplorable.  He 
won't  lift  his  finger  to  help  his  brother,  would  not 
even  acknowledge  him  if  I  didn't  make  him." 

"His  brother?" 

"Yes,  you  know,  George." 

"Good  Lord!" 

"I  forgot — you  feel  that  way  too.  But  still,  if  he 
was  your  brother,  you  know  you  would  look  out  for 
him.  It  seems  cruel.  It  is  because  Bert  is  ashamed 
of  it,  and  so  terribly  afraid  of  what  people  will  think. 
As  if  that  mattered!  But,  in  a  way,  I'm  fond  of 
Bert.  I've  known  him  so  long  and  so  well ;  and  he  is 
very  loyal." 

Carron  looked  at  her  with  compunction,  with  si- 
lent pity.  She  had  known  the  fellow  so  long,  eight 
years !  And  this  was  her  idea  of  him.  Did  she  sup- 
pose that  weakness  and  loyalty  ever  went  together? 

226 


WISDOM   SET   AT   NAUGHT 

"He  will  do  anything  for  me,"  she  said. 

Carron  could  believe  her  there.  What  the  fellow 
would  do  for  her — which  was  to  say  for  the  sake  of 
possessing  her — had  been  made  evident.  He  had 
been  ready  even  to  chance  the  risk  of  losing  her  for 
that.  What  he  would  do  disinterestedly  for  her,  was 
nothing.  It  had  taken  the  horse-breaker  just  four 
days  to  add  up  Ferrier's  mental  sum;  and  the  im- 
pulse was  on  his  tongue  to  speak  it.  Speak  not  only 
that,  but  his  own  as  well.  The  story  of  his  coming 
and  the  reason  of  it.  Why  not  show  her,  as  Ra- 
der  had  urged,  his  side  of  the  business — risk  his 
plea  ?  But  she  was  not  his  as  yet,  was  she  ?  He  was 
not  certain.  She  seemed  to  be  hovering  on  the  edge 
of  giving  herself  up;  suppose  this  question  of  his  be 
all  that  was  needed  to  startle  her  away  ? 

"He  hasn't  and  never  has  had  a  ghost  of  a  reason 
to  expect  anything  of  me,"  she  said  decidedly  after 
a  minute  when  she  had  seemed  to  be  weighing  a 
question  in  her  mind.  "Then,  a  few  weeks  ago,  we 
had  a  misunderstanding  about  something,  something 
he  did  that  was  not  like  a  gentleman.  We  haven't 
been  very  good  friends  since." 

Carron  clapped  that  information  to  the  hint  that 
the  scholar  had  let  fall,  which  was,  that  Ferrier 
had  come  by  his  knowledge  of  the  horse  in  some  way 
not  quite  open.  Blanche  had  put  it,  not  like  a 

227  « 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

gentleman.  Well,  that  description  fitted  the  fellow 
like  a  cap.  Evidently  that  finished  his  question.  He 
threw  the  matter  of  Ferrier  to  the  winds.  "Then,  if 
he  is  nothing  to  you,  why  won't  you — "  His  arms 
tried  to  clasp  her,  and  closed  on  empty  air. 

She  laughed  at  him.  "What  a  funny  thing  you 
are,  always  looking  for  a  reason,  or  a  fact !" 

It  dawned  on  him  that  she  had  no  reason  in  the 
world  to  keep  away  from  him,  except  that  myste- 
rious, buried  reason  of  women,  that  she  wanted  to. 
She  seemed  to  find  this  interval  while  they  were 
near,  yet  not  so  near  as  even  to  clasp  hands,  the  most 
to  be  cherished ;  like  the  hour  in  which  they  walked, 
beautiful  only  because  the  sun  is  coming,  yet  most 
beautiful  before  it  rises. 

He  could  not  understand  her  here.  What  he 
wanted,  he  wanted  to  have  in  fact,  not  to  dream  of 
how  he  might  have  it;  he  lacked  the  poison  of  the 
idealist,  who  suspects  the  thing  he  can  touch.  He 
loved  the  more  for  possessing.  Her  holding  him  off 
appeared  to  him  a  sentimental  scruple ;  but  the  awe 
love  brings  to  its  object  made  him  almost  patient 
with  her  whim.  Love — the  word  had  not  been  used 
between  them ;  it  might  not  yet  have  been  formed  in 
her  mind;  and  he  was  as  shy  of  the  spoken  sound 
as  a  half -grown  boy  is  of  a  kiss.  But  he  was  living 
in  it — too  far  gone  in  it  to  question  his  own  feelings, 

228 


WISDOM    SET    AT    NAUGHT 

or  too  much  afraid  of  the  depths  he  might  discover. 
He  followed  her  wayward  course,  thinking  no 
woman  had  ever  set  her  feet  so  lightly  in  the  grass, 
or  turned  her  head  to  look  back  with  such  a  supple 
motion.  Tamer  of  horses,  orderer  of  men,  captious 
dictator,  he  was  caught  in  the  crook  of  a  little  finger, 
the  curl  of  an  eyelash,  the  wave  of  a  lock  of  hair. 
He  saw  her  passing  on  soundless  feet,  from  shadow 
to  shadow,  through  light  and  light.  She  went  like  a 
wild  thing,  with  movements  so  poised  and  beauti- 
fully balanced,  they  gave  no  sense  of  bodily  weight. 
To  capture  her  on  the  edge  of  day,  at  the  moment 
when  the  fiery  path  would  stretch  out  to  them ! 

It  was  not  to  happen  then ;  nor  at  mid-day,  ghostly 
with  accumulated  mist  of  heat,  when  all  the  business 
of  the  house  separated  them,  and  the  steady,  undi- 
verted eye  of  Mrs.  Rader  glanced  between  them. 
Not  until  the  afternoon  was  tiring,  with  the  languors 
of  the  whole  hot  day  in  its  lap,  did  he  lure  her  out 
again  and  down  to  the  old  spring  well  where  she 
had  led  him  first.  Here  her  parole  came  to  an  end, 
and  they  were  no  longer  laughing  as  at  sunrise,  but 
afraid  of  themselves  and  desperately  in  earnest. 

"I  thought  we  were  to  be  friends — only  friends, 
aren't  we  ?"  her  cry  sounded. 

"Yes,  friends  if  you  like,  but  not  only  friends. 
We'd  be  enemies." 

229 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

"O,  but  I  don't  want—" 

The  tide  of  her  fears  flowed  to  and  fro,  swung  in, 
flung  back  again.  The  strength  of  the  feeling  made 
for  fluctuation.  Soul  and  body,  which  had  kept 
such  separate  lives,  each  in  its  own  fountain  head, 
must  toss  together  and  struggle  with  each  other 
before  they  could  flow  out  in  the  one  channel.  Not 
at  once  would  the  current  sweep  smooth,  even  when, 
clasped  and  kissed,  acknowledged  lovers,  though  by 
no  spoken  word,  they  stood  together,  he  looking 
down  on  her  dark  head. 

Five  days — and  she  was  here  in  the  middle  of  his 
life.  She  was  in  every  direction  in  which  he  looked. 
The  future  he  could  not  look  into ;  the  present  filled 
all  his  horizon.  The  past  was  a  dark  alley.  The 
harmless,  natural  life  of  the  man  who  had  lived 
there  looked  black.  "What  a  brute  I  am!"  he 
thought  fearfully.  "What  does  she  see  in  me  ?" 

She  lifted  her  head,  flung  it  back  against  his 
shoulder,  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  him  a  moment  before 
she  spoke.  "Tell  me  something?"  she  asked. 

"Anything." 

"What  was  it  you  wanted  to  ask  me  in  the  sewing- 
room,  just  as  you  came  toward  me?" 

This  startled  him.  "What  made  you  think  I 
wanted  to  ask  anything?" 

"Because  you  said,  'Tell  me' !" 
230 


WISDOM    SET   AT    NAUGHT 

He  had  been  unaware  that  he  had  spoken  any 
of  his  thought,  and  he  faced  this  idea  with  dismay. 
He  had  the  opportunity  he  had  wanted,  yet  now 
he  looked  upon  it  with  disenchantment.  He  pushed 
it  away.  He  did  not  want  it  now — the  trouble  of  it, 
while  her  eyes  were  on  his,  and  his  hand  beneath  her 
knocking  heart. 

"I  think  I  had  the  inspired  presumption  to  begin 
to  ask  you  if  .you  loved  me."  He  said  it,  and  in  that 
moment  it  had  become  true  to  him.  It  seemed  to 
him  as  if  that  had  been  the  only  thing  he  had  ever 
wanted.  He  lost  his  sense  of  perspective — left  the 
past  behind. 

Straight  into  the  house  they  went  from  their  tryst, 
and  Carron  was  to  recall  for  a  long  while  the 
scene  without  a  word  which  followed.  Mrs.  Rader 
was  sitting  in  the  dining-room  in  the  half  light,  her 
body  relaxed  in  one  of  the  stiff  uncompromising 
chairs,  her  hands  lying  palms  up,  half  open, 
apart,  the  weariness  of  the  work  of  all  day  in  her 
lap.  Her  head  drooped  a  little  aside ;  her  eyes  gazed 
at  destiny,  resigned,  immune  to  disappointment.  To 
her  her  daughter  went,  coming  behind  her  chair, 
put  arms  around  her  neck,  laid  a  cheek  against  her 
mother's,  and  pressed  it  there  in  a  dumb  little  caress. 
The  poor  woman,  startled,  half  loosened  the  girl's 

231 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

arms,  and  looked  up.  It  seemed  she  understood.  The 
overplus  of  love  had  touched  her  cheek.  She  looked 
searchingly,  imploringly  into  her  daughter's  eyes; 
but  evidently  this  was  all  there  was  to  be  told.  Youth 
knew  no  more,  perhaps,  of  its  own  tumultuous  heart ; 
knew,  perhaps,  but  selfishly  hugged  the  secret; 
hugged  it,  perhaps,  not  selfishly  but  with  a  deeper 
understanding  than  experience  has  of  the  one  brief 
season  in  a  whole  life  when  man  and  woman  are 
loosed  from  all  expediency  and  advisability — from 
reason  altogether — and  snatch  their  moment  alone 
in  their  small  field  of  flowers  among  the  bristling 
thorns  of  the  world.  Youth,  overriding,  sure  of 
himself,  and  proud,  disdained  to  ask  itself  what  it 
meant.  The  future  to  the  two  was  as  negligible  as 
the  past,  or  as  the  other  souls  living  near  them. 
They  wanted  to  dream ;  to  read  each  other's  faces  as 
open  books,  thousands  of  words  on  the  pages,  the 
same  words  a  thousand  times  over;  to  float  undis- 
turbed on  their  tide  of  feeling;  to  gaze  unaroused  at 
their  miracle;  to  ask,  "How  did  we  come  together?" 
not,  "Where  are  we  going?" 


232 


CHAPTER   XI 

ET    BEAM    VIDIMUS 

TO  spring  full-grown  into  the  water  to  learn  to 
swim,  to  mount  full-grown  into  saddle  to  learn 
to  ride,  to  leap  for  the  first  time  into  love,  with  the 
fixed  convictions  of  experience  and  the  brain  of  a 
skeptic — that  is  an  experience  which  gives  a  man 
some  moments  of  terror,  lest  he  drown  himself  or  be 
trampled  before  his  heart  begins  to  beat  with  the  un- 
imaginable joy.  Carron,  in  the  days  of  his  moth- 
er's authority,  had  known  none  of  the  adolescent 
fancies.  Without  sentiment,  late  in  developing,  he 
had  had  small  experience  of  women  until  his  youth 
flung  him  into  the  plains.  There  he  had  known  them 
— a  few* — owners  of  small  properties,  of  hotels;  of 
larger  properties,  of  mines;  or  girls  from  he  knew 
not  where  whom  he  had  danced  with  in  the  heated 
balls.  Their  eyes  had  been  keen  and  a  little  hard 
from  continual  defensive  looking  on  the  world. 
Their  shrewd  brains  continually  were  pitted  against 
man's  in  his  arena ;  or  did  he  venture  toward  theirs, 
it  was  a  battle,  and  the  thing  was  to  get  the  best 
of  him.  Materialist,  romanticist  that  he  was,  ex- 

233 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

pecting  of  woman  all  things  he  was  not,  Carron 
had  found  these  as  unsympathetic  as  certain 
New  England  exotics  he  remembered  returning 
from  Paris  to  Connecticut  with  their  lovely  eyes 
filled  with  the  wonder  of  Parisian  shops,  the  lan- 
guage of  the  city  soft  on  their  tongues,  their  hearts 
lodging  houses  for  the  latest  foreign  fancy. 

It  was  this  woman  of  the  cultivated  soul  who  had 
taken  him.  She  knew  how  to  make  herself  his  ally, 
pet  him  out  of  his  shynesses,  laugh  him  out  of  his 
vanities,  sit  at  his  feet,  draw  out  of  the  recesses  of  his 
mood  shrewd  music  that  he  himself  had  not  sus- 
pected. Five  days  they  had  had ;  and  Love,  who  is 
fond  of  putting  five  days  into  five  minutes,  had 
showed  them,  if  not  herself  from  head  to  foot,  at 
least  the  full  splendor  of  her  face.  That  instantane- 
ous knowledge  was  of  the  heart.  It  had  come  first, 
which  commonly  is  the  final  revelation.  The  hun- 
dred lesser  knowledges  of  the  mind  remained  to  be 
discovered;  and  the  charm  of  the  days  which  fol- 
lowed was  partly  this  becoming  acquainted  with 
each  other  backward. 

The  season  of  arranging  the  hotel  was  done,  fur- 
niture shrouded  and  doors  closed.  The  greater  house 
assumed  an  intense  repose;  and  Blanche,  released 
from  its  tyrannies,  became  a  creature  of  the  out-of- 
doors.  The  later  summer  stood  at  the  full  above 

234 


ET    DEAM    VIDIMUS 

their  heads.  By  night  came  the  wider  spreading 
gauzy  fan  of  cloud,  reaching  from  horizon  to  hori- 
zon; but  the  morning  dispersed  it,  and  at  noon  the 
sky  showed  a  broad  sheet  of  blue.  The  white  grass 
was  beginning  to  turn  to  gray,  the  trees  black  and 
laden  with  dust,  the  faint  pools  in  the  creek  bed  were 
shrunken  dry,  and  every  twig  snapped  under  the 
foot  like  a  spark.  They  saw,  from  the  shelter  of 
wooded  hilltops,  the  hawk  drop  slowly,  cutting  the 
air,  and  come  to  his  perch  on  the  dying  pine,  and 
stand,  his  wings  held  out  from  his  body  for  heat,  his 
sharp  tongue  like  a  splinter  in  his  mouth.  They 
walked  in  the  thick  scent  of  endless  pines  and 
smelled,  mixed  with  the  resin,  the  sharper  pungence 
of  far-off  forest  fires.  She  led  him  by  little  unex- 
pected paths  to  look  on  new  corners  of  the  world. 
They  sat  on  heights  and  saw  the  ragged  horizon  of 
trees  beyond,  and  beneath,  the  shelf  of  rock  where 
perhaps  a  snake  stirred,  glistening. 

She  told  him  everything,  from  the  shyest  places  of 
her  thoughts,  even  the  long  kept  fancies  of  the 
child — divine  foolishnesses,  unbelievable  unworldli- 
nesses.  She  pointed  out  to  him  again,  at  sunset,  the 
little,  playing,  wild  animals,  rabbits  and  whisking 
chipmunks.  She  seemed  to  think,  perhaps,  they  had 
souls.  She  brought  back  to  his  memory  a  certain 
morning  beneath  cedars ;  but  this  place  they  did  not 

235 


SON   OE   THE   WIND 

revisit.  He  recalled  it,  as  he  recalled  the  Sphinx's 
window,  something  belonging  in  past  time;  and 
he  had  no  wish  to  lead  her  back  to  the  discussion 
that  had  been  theirs.  No  doubt  she  was  in  his  hand 
now,  an  instrument  easy  to  use ;  but  she  had  ceased 
altogether  to  appear  to  him  as  an  instrument.  If 
he  drew  her  on  to  talk  now,  his  purpose  was 
to  watch  the  play  of  expression  around  her  mouth, 
and  the  change  in  her  eyes  from  alertness  into 
dreams.  His  nature  continued  to  fulfil  itself.  He 
continued  to  bend  every  faculty  of  mind  and  will 
to  the  pursuit  of  one  thing,  making  everything  else 
tributary  to  it.  The  only  difference  was  that  imper- 
ceptibly, in  ways  so  gradual  he  was  unaware  of 
them,  his  object  had  changed.  She  had  become  the 
object. 

Sometimes  they  raced  the  early  moon — early,  be- 
fore the  red  had  disappeared  from  the  west — and 
stood  beneath  the  Witch's  Spindle  silent,  saw  the 
bent  form,  like  a  human  being,  and  felt  themselves 
beneath  the  arms  of  fate.  But  never  the  later  moon. 
She  would  not  be  out  in  the  dark  hours.  Reminded 
of  the  floodtide  of  night ;  she  found  the  excuse  of  the 
increasing  veil  of  cloud;  when  that  was  gone  then 
they  might,  perhaps.  But  each  night  it  gathered  a  lit- 
tle deeper,  and  a  chill  came  with  it  that  whispered  of 
winter,  something  to  be  thought  of  with  a  shiver  in 

236 


ET    DEAM    VIDIMUS 

the  small  hours,  and  forgotten  in  the  bright  eye  of 
day. 

Sometimes  they  sat  within  the  fringe  of  trees 
near  where  the  carpet  had  laid,  near  enough  to  see 
the  house — and  it  was  a  wonder  if  eyes  from  there 
did  not  see  them — and  laughed  and  talked  nonsense ; 
shamefully  flattered  each  other,  made  fun  of  each 
other.  He  had  been  treated  as  a  child  and  as  a  ruler 
at  different  times  in  his  life,  and  he  was  treated  as 
both  at  once  now,  bu>  with  a  difference — a  privi- 
leged child,  humored,  and  when  refused,  refused 
with  coaxing  and  a  smile;  an  adored  despot — • 
deferred  to,  looked  upon  with  eyes  like  a  dove's 
for  gentleness.  Her  gentleness  was  his  continual 
amusement,  and  her  incuriousness.  She  asked  him 
at  all  seasons  what  he  thought  of  her,  sometimes 
what  he  thought  of  himself,  sometimes  of  this  or 
that  person.  But  never  of  what  he  had  done,  of 
what  life  had  been  to  him  before  he  met  her,  or  of 
any  person  who  might  have  been  in  it,  never  troub- 
led him  with  those  questions  of  the  past  and  the 
future  with  which  human  beings  are  wont  to  disturb 
the  present.  She  had  love,  she  held  it  and  increased 
it.  Sometimes,  whether  alone  or  with  the  other  peo- 
ple around  them,  their  eyes  met,  and  he  felt  the  knife 
of  extreme  happiness  which  is  close  to  suffering.  He 
thought  it  was  because  she  was  beautiful;  not  beau- 

237 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

tiful  because  of  beauty,  but  because  she  was  herself. 
Beauty  now  all  depended  on  being  Blanche.  If  it 
were  she,  then  it  was  safe. 

He  learned  a  deal  of  her  while  they  were  among 
the  other  people — and  this  was  often  enough.  He 
saw  she  was  more  ignorant  of  books  than  he;  for 
sometimes,  when  they  came  in  in  the  late  afternoon, 
they  took  the  way  of  the  scholar's  study,  and  enter- 
ing flushed  from  the  air,  no  doubt  to  him  a  living 
bucolic,  they  took  at  least  half  of  his  mind  off  of 
his  volumes  by  pulling  them  about  and  skimming 
over  them.  She  had  never  heard  of  Atalanta  in  Caly- 
don  before,  but  she  thought  Meleager  was  like  Car- 
ron.  She  listened  to  the  story  of  the  Golden  Fleece 
and  found  Carron  in  it.  She  pointed  him  out  to 
himself  in  the  pictures  of  the  beautiful  bas-reliefs 
of  the  Parthenon — one  of  the  mounted  figures — and 
embarrassed  him  by  calling  attention  to  its  perfec- 
tions. The  two  men  spent  some  quiet  twilights  with 
her,  her  head  closer  to  her  father's  than  to  Carron's, 
but  close  to  both. 

Once,  across  her  hair,  as  she  bent  above  Carlyle's 
thunders,  the  scholar  sent  a  glance  inquiring 
and  anxious.  Carron  had  almost  nodded  to  re- 
assure him,  "Yes,  I  love  her,"  when  he  remembered 
it  was  not  of  this  Rader  wanted  to  ask.  The  re- 
peated appearance  of  the  man  and  the  woman  to- 

238 


ET    BEAM    VIDIMUS 

gather,  their  harmonies  and  elations,  the  scholar 
might  have  perceived,  as  the  ear  takes  in  the  rhythm 
of  words,  pleased,  without  reflection  or  deduction. 
It  was  of  the  other  thing  he  questioned,  which  had 
brought  the  two  men  together,  and  which,  strangely 
enough,  still  seemed  a  living  issue  in  Rader's  mind. 
The  younger  man  looked  it  down.  He  would  not 
acknowledge  that  such  a  thing  existed,  or  ever  had 
existed.  He  had  even  forgotten  the  promise  he  had 
made.  He  thought  the  scholar  looked  both  relieved 
and  disappointed.  No  doubt  his  imagination  had 
been  strongly  touched;  he  had  thought  to  see  some 
incident,  like  an  old,  heroic  tale,  played  out  before 
his  eyes. 

But  there,  also,  was  his  loyalty  to  the  girl.  She 
seemed  to  stand  for  a  great  deal  to  him,  perhaps 
for  an  embodiment  of  that  theoretic  beauty  he  had 
named  once  as  being  the  most  real  thing  in  all  the 
world;  perhaps  for  the  embodiment  of  a  simpler, 
more  human  thing,  his  own  youth.  There  was  a 
likeness  between  them.  Even  the  outward  resem- 
blance was  traceable,  the  same  quick,  inquiring  turn 
of  the  head,  and  the  same  dreamy  eye,  though  it 
dreamed  upon  a  different  ideal,  the  scholar's  was 
upon  the  abstract;  the  girl's  upon  the  concrete — a 
terrible  thing  to  desire  and  to  expect  to  find.  She 
watched  her  father's  face  more  than  she  did  the 

239 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

beautiful  pages  of  his  "Spectators."  She  spoke  of 
him  to  Carron,  one  afternoon,  as  they  walked  on 
Into  the  house,  through  the  long  passage. 

"He  gets  lost  in  them,"  she  said,  meaning  the 
books,  "just  as  we  do  in  the  hills.  He  forgets  every- 
thing, even  to  go  to  bed.  He  has  had  beautiful  books 
from  the  time  when  he  could  buy  such  things,  and 
mother  would  never  let  him  part  with  one  of  them." 

"Why,  did  he  want  to?" 

"O,  of  course  not.  I  meant  when  we  were  so 
terribly — poor;  and  he  could  have  sold  even  a  few 
for  a  good  deal  of  money,  mother  would  never  even 
ask  him.  She  did  everything,  rather  than  that.  She 
used  to  patch  our  shoes  herself.  She  loves  him 
terribly.  She  would  do  anything  for  him." 

"And  he?"  Carron  prompted. 

Blanche  shrugged,  and  shook  her  head.  "He  is 
fond  of  us,  of  course,  but,  well — we  are  not  books, 
that  is  our  shortcoming.  They're  more  to  him  than 
any  person  is.  It  is  hard  to  understand."  She 
gathered  her  forehead.  "Mother  doesn't,  but  she 
accepts  it." 

Such  facts  fell  quaintly  from  her  mouth,  bare 
facts,  observed  of  people.  She  showed  the  same 
•direct  comprehension  in  regard  to  certain  other  per- 
sons whom  he  became  indirectly  acquainted  with, 
her  many  correspondents.  These  were  people  who 

240 

' 


ET    BEAM   VIDIMUS 

had  stayed  at  the  hotel  for  a  space,  and  been  caught 
in  the  woven  net  of  sweetness  and  careless  disdain. 
The  letters,  which  were  brought  up  now  by  the  boy 
George — by  the  elder  Ferrier  never — included  usu- 
ally one  or  two  for  her — letters,  most  of  which  bore 
the  postmarks  of  cities  in  the  state;  but  sometimes 
one  showed  an  Italian  stamp  or  a  Cuban,  or  that  its 
journey  was  from  the  far  north.  She  would  smile 
faintly  over  the  open  page ;  then  look  up  with  a  laugh 
to  read  him  a  line,  or  give  him  a  sketch  of  the  writer. 
This  lady  was  living  at  Nice.  She  was  trying  to 
decide  whether  it  would  be  safe  to  divorce  her  hus- 
band, because  there  was  a  chance  that,  after  all,  her 
friend  might  not  marry  her. 

This  man  was  a  retired  seaman,  who  had  made  his 
money  in  smuggling  opium.  His  letter  began :  "Miss 
Rader:  Miss,"  which  delighted  her,  and  was  a  pros- 
pectus of  the  writer's  perfections  and  virtues  with  a 
guarded  query  as  to  the  possibility  of  marriage.  At 
the  idea  of  becoming  a  smuggleress — as  she  put  it — • 
Blanche  fell  into  such  laughter  that  she  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  make  Carron  understand  that  the  writer  of  a 
certain  third  letter  was  a  quite  eminent  geologist, 
who  wanted  very  much  another  specimen  of  a  stone. 
He  felt  sure  she  must  remember  it.  It  was  in  the 
middle  of  a  rocky  ledge,  down  a  declivity,  just  over 
the  hill  from  the  hotel.  She  could,  he  said,  procure  it 

241 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

easily  by  being  lowered  a  little  distance — ten  feet. 
There  would  not  be  much  danger. 

"Father  wouldn't  see  anything  wrong  with  that 
point  of  view,"  she  declared.  For  herself,  she 
seemed  to  find  it  exceedingly  amusing.  She  seemed 
to  like  these  people,  even  the  lady  at  Nice  of  whom 
Carron  had  serious  doubts,  but  she  did  not  look  upon 
them  as  friends.  There  was  a  line  drawn  there.  It 
was  the  rare  thing  about  her  that  she  could  live  in 
the  mixed  crowd  of  humanity,  like  it,  have  so  few 
illusions  about  it,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  keep  herself 
so  far  off,  and  cherish  so  intensely  ideals  and  illu- 
.sions  all  her  own.  He  noted  sensitiveness,  almost 
morbid,  with  which  she  assumed  her  own  nature  to 
everything  that  grew  and  lived,  without  sound,  or 
without  a  human  voice.  Deeply  and  ineradicably 
secretive  she  was,  and  afraid  lest  any  unsympathetic 
touch  or  thought  come  near  what  she  loved !  She  had 
turned  cold  eyes  on  Ferrier.  Her  tolerant  friend- 
ship had  disappeared,  and  she  drove  him  away  from 
her  presence  with  icy  words  and  looks.  Carron,  to 
whom  this  man  had  never  been  more  than  a  vague 
figure  on  the  horizon,  worth  nothing  but  a  little  pity, 
ventured  to  inquire. 

She  shrugged,  shook  her  head,  and  waived  the 
question. 

242 


ET    BEAM    VIDIMUS 

He  sounded  her.  "You  don't  dislike  George." 

"George  is  different."  She  was  very  clear  on  this 
point.  "He  hasn't  a  brain,  you  see.  He  feels  you 
don't  like  him,  and  like  an  animal,  he's  afraid  of 
you.  But  Bert  doesn't  like  you,  because  he  wants 
something."  She  flushed  a  little  with  anger,  and 
Carron  dropped  this  delicate  question  for  another. 
But  upon  the  question  that  involved  her  mother, 
Blanche  was  not  cold.  Hostility  mixed  with  affec- 
tion is  hot.  "She  doesn't  trust  you,"  the  girl 
declared  with  darkening  eyes.  "I  don't  expect  any- 
thing of  Bert,  but  she  ought  to  feel  as  I  do  about 
you — yet  she  doesn't.  She  says  things  about  you. 
It  makes  me  feel  hot,  as  if  she  had  struck  me,  and 
for  the  moment  I  hate  her." 

But  her  temper  could  run  further  than  that,  he 
was  to  find  out,  when  he  tried  to  urge  her  one  even- 
ing into  the  little  balcony  where  their  first  tryst  had 
been  kept.  She  resisted,  refused,  pressed  for  a  rea- 
son, shivered.  "It  is  rotten,  condemned.  It  may 
tear  away  from  the  house  at  any  minute,  even  with 
nothing  on  it." 

He  was  struck  with  admiration  and  horror  of  this 
frantic  child. 

"I  thought  you  didn't  like  me — and  I  knew  I  liked 
you  too  much! — and,  just  then,  I  didn't  care  what 

243 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

became  of  us!"  she  explained.  "You  don't  know 
how  I  have  lain  awake  over  the  thought  of  what 
might  have  happened  to  you !  I  am  dreadful  once  I 
am  started." 

"You  may  risk  my  neck,"  he  told  her  plainly, 
"but  not  your  own.  And  you  are  to  be  decent  to 
your  mother.  She's  not  having  a  bit  of  a  good  time 
of  it,  and  she  may  be  right  about  me  for  all  you 
know." 

"She  isn't,"  Blanche  said  positively.  "But  I  will 
be  nice  if  you  want  me  to,"  she  added  with  sudden 
docility;  "I'd  rather  do  anything  than  make  you 
angry." 

He  thought  this  was  a  pretty  speech,  but  he 
discovered  on  the  same  day  the  full  truth  of  it. 
They  had  been  walking  over  the  turn  of  the  hill, 
toward  the  barn,  going  for  the  horses,  when  the 
figure  of  the  boy,  George,  came  into  sight  below 
them,  among  the  trees.  It  was  some  days  since 
Carron  had  seen  him.  He  had  kept  away  from  the 
house,  was  not  even  to  be  found  when  the  diligent 
Mrs.  Rader  wanted  him,  and  Blanche  searched. 
There  had  been  anxiety  in  the  girl's  look  then  and 
now  there  was  a  brightening  as  she  waved  her  hand. 
The  creature  threw  high  both  of  his,  streaked  with 
earth;  then  began  to  come  with  bounds  upward, 
through  the  trees.  Like  a  dog,  foolish  with  the 

244 


joy  of  seeing  his  master,  he  came  straight  toward 
her  as  though  he  would  have  flung  her  over,  but, 
instead,  flung  himself  upon  her  and  falling  on  his 
knees,  clasped  his  arms  around  her  waist,  and  hung 
there,  dropping  back  his  head  to  look  up  worship- 
fully. 

Laughing  she  put  her  hands  on  his  arms.  Thus 
she  might  have  laid  them  on  the  dog's  head.  But 
Carron  was  quick.  He  seized  the  boy's  wrists.  The 
creature  clung  fast  giving  Carron  an  upward  look, 
the  dull,  glazed  eye  of  fear;  but  the  man  unlocked 
his  fingers  with  a  hard  twist  and  plucking  him  off 
as  if  he  had  been  a  slug,  tossed  him  backward,  until 
he  rolled  a  little  down  the  hill. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  she  cried.  "What  is  the 
matter?" 

"Don't  let  him  touch  you  again!"  Carron  could 
hardly  speak.  The  sight  of  the  half-witted  thing 
hanging  upon  her  thickened  his  tongue  and  sent  the 
red  sparks  before  his  eyes. 

The  boy  was  picking  himself  up,  dazed  and  terri- 
fied, from  the  ground.  "You  have  hurt  him!"  she 
lamented,  and  made  a  dart  forward.  "He  didn't 
mean  any  harm !  He  does  that  like  a  child !" 

Carron  had  her  by  the  shoulder,  and  pulled  her 
back.  "Don't  go  near  him,  do  you  hear !  Let  him 
go!" 

245 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

The  figure  of  the  boy,  half  running,  half  creeping 
was  growing  smaller  among  the  trees.  "How  could 
you  do  that!  I  am  the  only  thing  in  the  world  he 
isn't  afraid  of." 

"He  is  a  beast!  I  can't  endure  to  see  him  near 
you!" 

"He's  not."  She  had  an  anger  of  her  own.  "He 
is  a  great  deal  less  of  one  than  some  men  with 
brains." 

Carron  shut  his  teeth. 

"Do  you  mean  me?" 

She  stared,  indignant  and  astonished.  "How  can 
you  think  such  a  thing?" 

"Very  easily.  You  give  him  privileges  I've  never 
taken!" 

"Oh,"  she  wailed.  She  turned  with  the  air  of 
leaving  him  for  the  end  of  the  world,  took  a  few 
precipitate  steps,  and  leaned  against  a  tree  trunk, 
hiding  her  face,  shaking  with  nervous  sobs,  without 
a  tear. 

Sullenly  he  approached  her.  The  storm  had 
poured  on  him  suddenly  out  of  clear  heavens.  "If 
I  had  known  that  creature  mattered  so  much  to  you, 
I  wouldn't  have  interfered,"  he  said.  "Stop  crying! 
Do  you  hear?"  The  sound  of  those  sobs  was  terri- 
ble to  him. 

At  his  touch  she  released  the  tree  and  clasped  him 
246 


ET    BEAM    VIDIMUS 

instead,  clinging  with  hands  which  were  a  revelation 
of  nervous  strength.  "It  isn't  on  account  of  him!" 
she  murmured,  "it's  you !  You  didn't  mean  it.  He 
has  not  a  brain.  You  can't  understand  that,  I  know ; 
and  you,  so  kind  always,  always  so  gentle,  so  good — 
O  better  than  I  am,  much  better — how  could  you 
say  such  a  thing?  How  could  you  think  I  would 
mean  such  a  thing?  It  hurts,  it  hurts  like  fire !  You 
didn't  mean  it  ?" 

He  swore  that  he  had  not,  that  she  might  have 
anything  she  wanted;  that  he  loved  her,  that  he 
would  be  anything  she  pleased  to  think  him;  only 
stop  sobbing  like  that  and  everything  would  be  all 
right.  He  did  not  know  what  he  was  saying.  Mis- 
ery and  happiness  filled  him  at  thus  being  clung  to, 
trusted,  believed  in  as  an  unshakable,  invulnerable 
god.  Outwardly  he  reassured  her.  Inwardly  he 
was  crying,  "Lord  knows  where  we  are  going !  Lord 
knows  how  this  will  end !" 

She  seemed  to  have  furnished  him  with  her  own 
virtues,  with  all  virtues  which  have  been  known  since 
man  was  born.  When  he  was  with  her  they  seemed 
almost  possible  to  him.  But  when  he  thought 
of  it  in  the  times  they  were  apart,  he  felt  afraid. 
What  if  she  should  discover  that  he  was  only  a  com- 
mon man,  not  as  she  had  told  him,  under  the  cedars, 
"not  different?"  A  strange  girl!  Notions  a  man 

247 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

had  never  heard  of  in  other  women.  Never  could 
tell  in  what  direction  he  might  hurt  her  next,  or  de- 
light her.  She  had  none  of  the  exactions,  common 
to  woman,  made  no  bargains  with  him,  was  ready  to 
run  to  meet  him  from  any  distance;  yet,  suddenly, 
with  nothing  to  warn  him,  he  would  find  himself 
floundering  in  fresh  mysteries,  in  inexhaustible  re- 
serves. He  had  supposed  the  distance  between  them 
was  but  a  hand's  breadth,  and  behold,  a  dark  conti- 
nent. 

Still,  through  barrens  of  egoism,  around  pitfalls  of 
their  natures,  dangers  of  which  they  were  unaware, 
they  drifted  nearer  together.  To  become  as  one  per- 
son, to  be  done  for  ever  with  the  possibility  of  differ- 
ing! Thus  love,  with  her  mirage  of  the  perfect 
solvent. 

Restless,  wanting  more  than  he  had  in  the  present, 
not  wanting  to  look  into  the  future,  Carron  lived  in 
chaos,  without  a  thought  of  to-morrow.  Half  their 
joy  had  been  in  their  freedom,  their  wildness,  their 
detachment  from  the  world.  That  institution  by 
which  the  world  is  populated — he  had  never  even 
considered  it  enough  to  scorn  it.  He  was  the  last 
of  human  creatures  to  think  of  himself  as  mated, 
but  he  felt  the  approach  of  an  end  to  summer,  an 
end  to  an  idyl,  a  sharpening  of  its  sweetness;  and, 
like  a  wounding  edge,  separation. 

248 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  SOD  ON  THE  PANE 

ON  the  eighth  day  of  Carron's  idyl,  Beetles  the 
dog  became  ill.  Whether  his  propensity  for 
swallowing  foreign  substances — some  venomous 
member  of  the  tribe  of  insects  to  which  he  was  de- 
voted, from  which  he  had  received  his  name — had 
brought  the  sickness  and  the  fever,  was  impossible 
to  tell.  He  lay  on  a  little  piece  of  sacking  on  the 
side  porch,  and  Blanche  hung  over  him  as  though  he 
had  been  an  ailing  infant.  But  her  hands  shook 
when  she  tried  to  get  water  between  his  teeth.  She 
drenched  his  poor  head  in  wet  cloths  that  would 
not  stay  cold.  In  her  anxiety  she  made  the  wretched 
animal  more  wretched.  Carron,  gravely  squatted 
on  his  heels,  prescribed  for  the  case  and  took  it  into 
his  own  hands.  Sick  dogs  he  had  handled  occasion- 
ally, as  well  as  horses  and  men.  He  hung  up  a  piece 
of  wet  sacking  where  the  draft  would  blow  through 
it  coolly  upon  the  forlorn  creature,  and  he  sat 
through  intervals  of  a  blazing  afternoon,  patiently 
putting  cracked  ice  on  Beetles'  head,  or,  with  hands 

249 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

deft  enough  to  overcome  any  difficulty,  prying  open 
his  mouth  and  pouring  in  medicine.  He  was  inde- 
fatigable, when  even  Blanche  had  relinquished  hope. 
He  hated  to  see  things  die.  He  had  a  deep  and  rever- 
ential worship  of  life,  of  flesh  and  blood  vivid  un- 
der the  sun.  Death  was  the  pitiful  calamity.  It  was 
more  than  that;  to  Carron  it  was  the  evil  of  life. 
He  persuaded  Blanche  to  go  to  bed  early,  with  the 
fiction  that  he  noticed  an  improvement  in  Beetles' 
case,  when  in  fact  he  noticed  nothing  of  the  sort. 
He  had  the  gloomiest  expectations.  He  rose  pre- 
ternaturally  early  the  next  morning  with  the  inten- 
tion of  being  on  the  ground  first  if  the  catastrophe 
had  occurred.  To  the  first  glance  Beetles  looked  in- 
animate enough;  but  at  the  sound  of  the  step,  the 
ears  lifted  a  little,  and  the  tail  moved  with  inquiring 
interest  in  life.  Carron  examined  his  patient  and 
found  him  convalescent.  He  covered  the  little  crea- 
ture with  a  piece  of  blanket,  since  the  morning  was 
cool — then  lit  a  pipe  and  walked  about  in  the  open 
space  through  which  the  drive  made  its  loop.  He 
felt  absurdly  happy.  With  the  empty  feeling  of  be- 
fore-breakfast,  the  smoke  of  the  pipe,  the  fine,  light, 
out-of-door  air  he  grew  a  little  poetic,  looked  up  at 
the  facade  of  the  new  hotel  and  perceived  a  likeness 
in  it  to  Mrs.  Rader.  It  was  spare,  a  little  disapprov- 
ing, but  not  in  the  least  forbidding,  v  with  an  exact 

250 


sense  of  its  position  in  society  and  its  duty  toward 
the  world  at  large,  and  for  these  things  a  deep  re- 
spect. Also  the  little  vertical  apertures  for  light,  in 
the  garret,  gave  a  faint  expression  of  anxiety.  The 
old  wing  was  Mr.  Rader — not  classic  enough,  but 
elderly,  individual,  unexpected,  and  having  the  cour- 
age of  its  convictions.  There  was  nothing  like 
Blanche,  unless  it  were  the  pale,  cool  light  and  hot 
pools  of  sun  in  the  pine  forest,  but  she  was  not  only 
the  near  light  and  shade,  in  which  a  man  could  rest 
and  be  stimulated  by  the  sharp,  uncloying  sweetness. 
She  was  also  the  inexhaustible  blue  arch  of  the  sky. 
Whistling  between  his  teeth,  the  cold  pipe  held 
fast  in  them,  the  cloud  of  pretty  thoughts  blowing 
through  the  upper  chambers  of  his  mind,  it  occurred 
to  his  baser  perception  that  the  pine-needles  had 
drifted  a  good  deal  in  the  last  week.  He  hunted  out 
a  rake  from  the  tool  house  and  set  himself  to  work, 
drawing  back  the  brown  drift  to  the  edges  of  the 
clearing,  and  then  into  separate  little  cocks  with  a 
good  collar  of  bare  earth  around  each.  He  remem- 
bered how,  with  the  autumn,  little  pyres  like  these 
had  been  set  blazing  down  New  England  streets; 
how  the  boys  had  leaped  them,  and  the  girls,  in 
greater  danger  because  of  skirts.  He  thought  of 
how  Blanche  would  have  leaped;  with  no  fear  of 
the  fire,  with  only  the  fear  of  not  leaping  highest 

251 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

and  best.  He  could  see  how  she  would  look,  a  child 
with  rough,  streaming  curls,  and  the  light  of  com- 
petition in  her  eye.  She  would  have  permitted  no 
boy  but  himself  to  be  her  better! 

Gradually  he  had  worked  his  way  around  the 
clearing,  and  around  that  point  where  the  drive 
turned  from  it  to  descend  the  hill.  The  road  was 
visible  for  several  rods  below  him.  He  was  more 
upon  it  now  than  the  drive.  Linnets  crossed  it,  and 
rabbits ;  and  presently  a  man  came  into  sight  around 
the  bend  and  approached.  This  person  appeared  as 
a  midget  of  the  landscape,  a  little  dab  of  humanity 
among  trees,  like  those  figures  painters  introduce, 
for  the  sake  of  showing  the  superiority  of  the 
trees;  thus  he  seemed,  until  he  had  come  far 
enough  to  stand  opposite  and  fix  his  attention  on 
Carron.  Then,  perforce,  the  figure  was  resolved 
into  its  separate  identity,  one  that  had  been  met  and 
known  thrice,  each  time  under  circumstances  rather 
odd  and  which  had  scarcely  recommended  them- 
selves. 

Carron  nodded  to  him,  wishing  him  good  morn- 
ing. He  had  no  renewal  of  antagonism.  The  dis- 
parity in  strength  was  too  great.  This  fellow, 
Ferrier,  appeared  not  to  thrive  in  the  early  morning 
hours.  He  looked  pinched  and  hugged  his  arms  as 
if  he  were  chilly,  and  Carron  revolved  the  problem 

252 


Carron  prescribed  for  the  case 


THE    SOD    ON    THE    PANE 

as  to  whether  there  was  any  way  of  putting  him  in 
possession  of  a  decent  coat  for  the  winter,  at  the 
same  time  not  letting  the  fellow  suffer  in  his  pride. 
That  was  as  threadbare  as  his  clothes — no  doubt  as 
sensitive  to  strain.  The  man  was  watching  him 
rather  longer  than  an  interest  in  the  occupation  of 
sweeping  leaves  seemed  to  warrant. 

"I  think  the  people  are  down-stairs  by  this  time," 
Carron  observed,  offering  the  only  piece  of  informa- 
tion he  could  imagine  Ferrier's  wanting  of  him. 

"Are  they?"  the  voice  coming  suddenly,  sounded 
harsh.  Carron  looked  up,  observed  him  for  the  first 
time  clearly,  saw  the  man  planted  there  irresolutely. 
He  wore  bravado  like  a  cloak  of  gossamer.  Agita- 
tion was  apparent  beneath  it.  "I  didn't  think  they'd 
be  up  just  yet.  Old  man  Rader  said  you  always 
were  up  first.  I  thought — "  He  seemed  to  decide 
that  this  was  not  the  way  to  begin  it.  "I've  some- 
thing to  say  to  you,"  he  started  again  with  a  louder 
and  more  determined  voice.  "Would  you  mind  walk- 
ing down  the  road  a  little  way?" 

Carron  let  his  rake  rest  in  a  surprised  hand.  The 
voice,  the  face,  the  request  were  out  of  tune  with 
the  hour.  "Why  not  talk  here  ?" 

"I'd  rather  not.  Besides,"  he  gave  it  with  quite 
an  air,  "this  business  is  to  your  advantage." 

"Indeed?    Then  we  will  stay  here." 
253 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

Ferrier  narrowed  his  lips.  He  glanced  at  the 
hotel.  All  that  was  visible  was  the  blank  side  of 
the  greater  house,  with  every  shade  drawn.  "Doesn't 
make  any  difference  to  me"  he  remarked,  throwing 
an  accent  on  the  last  word,  but  he  seemed  a  little 
taken  aback.  He  made  a  meditative  half -circle  in  the 
pine-needles  with  his  heel,  then  looked  up  at  Carron 
from  under  his  brows.  "I  was  only  going  to  say, 
you  seem  to  be  wasting  a  lot  of  time." 

"Yes?"  Carron  had  the  gift  of  not  talking.  He 
saw  occasion  for  exercising  it  now. 

"I  told  you  you  would,"  Ferrier  volunteered.  His 
adversary  merely  looked  at  him,  only  too  ready  to 
let  the  conversation  fall.  Ferrier  gathered  himself 
together.  "I  know  how  you  are !  You'll  never  help 
a  fellow  an  inch  with  what  he's  got  to  say!"  He 
wavered,  summoning  his  last  resolution.  "The  fact 
is,  I've  thought  over  what  you  asked  me  the  other 
night  about  a  certain  matter  and  I've  decided  to  ac- 
cept your  proposition." 

Carron  opened  cold  wide  eyes  of  astonishment. 
The  past,  so  little  past,  flung  up  to  him  in  this  man's 
voice  roused  in  him  intense  distaste.  He  had  no 
wish  to  recall  it.  He  did  not  want  to  remember  that 
he  had  ever  made  a  proposition  to  Ferrier — and  such 
a  proposition !  He  indulged  a  vague  speculation  as 
to  what  the  man  wanted.  More  money?  If  so,  he 

?54 


THE    SOD    ON    THE    PANE 

was  asking  for  it  in  a  bad  way.  Carron  put  his  hand 
meditatively  into  his  pocket.  "I  don't  know  what 
you  are  talking  about,"  he  said. 

"You  know  mighty  well,"  the  other  replied  in  the 
unpleasant  tones  of  the  confidant.  "I  mean  I  know 
where  the  horse  is ;  I'll  show  you,  and  I'll  show  you 
straight  whenever  you  like — "  he  paused  and  then 
shot  the  full  splendor  of  the  proposition — "for  no 
further  consideration !" 

This  was  an  unexpected  turn  of  the  affair.  Car- 
ron could  not  restrain  a  smile,  but  he  felt  a  little 
puzzled. 

"You  don't  mean  she  has  shown  you?"  The 
keen  pointed  glint  of  panic  looked  out  of  Ferrier's 
eyes.  "No,  no!  I  know  she  hasn't,"  he  added 
quickly.  "She  wouldn't.  She  never  will!  You'd 
better  take  my  proposition.  It's  the  only  chance 
you'll  get." 

Carron  reached  for  the  rake.  "Ferrier,"  he  said 
patiently,  "I  don't  want  it." 

"But  I  do  know,"  the  man  passionately  insisted. 
"I  know  what  I've  seen.  It  isn't  a  fake.  If  a  horse 
is  what  you  want,  there's  no  horse  like  him  in  the 
world!"  He  took  hold  of  Carron's  arm.  "I'm  tell- 
ing you  the  truth,  and  I  won't  go  back  on  you  this 
time,  I  swear!  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor!" 

"Yes,  yes,  of  course,"  Carron  said  rather  sooth- 

255 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

ingly,  "I  believe  you,  certainly  I  do.  But  you  see  I 
don't  want  the  horse ;  and  wouldn't  take  it  as  a  gift. 
There's  no  use  talking,  that's  the  end  of  it." 

Ferrier  let  go  of  Carron's  sleeve.  It  appeared  he 
had  been  sure  of  his  cast.  His  trembling  had  not 
been  at  thought  of  failure,  but  at  the  peril  involved 
in  success.  Now  he  looked  white.  There  was  a 
slight  sucking  in  of  the  nostrils.  This  fellow  with 
the  small,  hawk  look  about  his  nose,  perhaps  had 
the  hawk  wish  in  his  heart  to  peck,  but  lacked  blood 
courage.  "Then  what  are  you  staying  for?" 

Evidently  they  had  reached  the  real  issue  of  the 
case.  Carron  suffered  illumination.  "That,"  he 
said,  stooping  to  pick  up  his  rake,  "is  none  of  your 
business." 

"If  you  think  you're  going  to  get  her  by  staying," 
Ferrier  breathlessly  began,  "you're  fooled!  You 
can't!"  But  his  anguish  told  how  little  certain  he 
was.  "You  can't,  I  tell  you!  No  one  can  take  her 
away  from  me!  O,  God!"  The  weight  of  his  fear 
seemed  to  fall  on  him  all  at  once.  He  sat  down  on 
the  bank  and  took  his  head  in  his  hands. 

Carron  looked  at  him  with  an  embarrassed  and 
compassionate  eye.  "Look  here,  Ferrier,"  he  mur- 
mured, "there's  no  use  in  our  talking — better  drop 
it." 

Ferrier  was  on  his  feet  again.  "Yes,  we'll  drop 
256 


THE    SOD   ON    THE    PANE 

it !  When  you  go !"  That  sound  of  pity  in  Carron's 
voice  seemed  to  be  more  than  he  could  bear.  "I'll 
drop  it,  if  you'll  get  out  this  day  and  this  minute." 

The  man  who  had  been  struggling  to  leave  this 
harassing  conversation  and  resume  his  mild  occupa- 
tion with  dead  leaves  let  the  rake  fall  with  a  clatter. 
"Who  directed  me  here?"  he  demanded.  "Now 
what  are  you  whimpering  about?" 

"Never  mind  that !"  Ferrier  declared  shrilly.  "I 
didn't  direct  you  here  for  this  reason.  I  thought 
you  were  a  decent  kind.  I  didn't  expect  you  to 
come  here,  and  take  a  girl  and  try  to — " 

Carron  made  the  quick  step  of  the  boxer  toward 
him.  The  fellow  choked  the  word  and  dodged. 
"You've  got  your  chance  to  go  peaceably  and  take 
the  horse,"  he  stammered — "or  stay  and  you'll  be 
kicked  out  in  twenty- four  hours.  I'll  tell  them!" 
His  voice  began  to  rise  as  if  it  tried  to  reach  the 
height  of  some  appalling  warning.  "I'll  tell  Mrs. 
Rader." 

Carron  began  to  laugh.  There  was  no  sneer  in 
the  long  sound  of  mirth.  That  threat  had  struck 
him  as  particularly  funny.  "All  right,"  he  said 
cheerfully.  "Go  ahead.  You've  my  entire  permis- 
sion. Suppose  we  go  up  together  now  and  you  tell 
her  about  it."  He  looked  at  Ferrier  with  a  banter- 
ing eye. 

257 


SON    OF    THE   .WIND 

Ferrier's  face  was  a  peculiarly  unpleasant  dull 
red.  "Do  you  think  I  don't  mean  it?" 

"I  think  you  mean  every  word — and  I  mean  every 
word.  Whenever  you  like;  it's  the  same  to  me."  He 
shouldered  his  rake  and  walked  away  up  the  drive. 

He  knew  well  enough  that  Ferrier  would  not  fol- 
low him  then  and  there.  If  he  had  supposed  that  he 
would  have  been  nervous  enough.  The  man  could 
not  tell  Mrs.  Rader  more  about  himself  and  Blanche 
than  she  already  knew  or  suspected;  but  he  might 
put  the  business  in  an  ugly  light;  considering  his 
caliber  and  his  state  of  mind  he  might  say  any- 
thing, and  who  could  tell  if  Mrs.  Rader  might  not 
believe  him?  He  walked  rapidly,  amusement  still 
overflowing  his  eyes  at  the  idea  of  Mrs.  Rader  as  an 
avenging  deity,  one  of  whom  Blanche  would  be  in 
terror.  Ferrier  had  been  impertinent  to  the  last  de- 
gree ;  yet  it  was  strange  the  way  he  could  rouse  no 
feeling  but  a  sort  of  pity;  and  upon  this  occasion 
Carron  was  aware  of  a  warmer  and  more  positive 
emotion  toward  him — gratitude!  Instead  of  hin- 
dering, the  man  had  given  him  a  push  in  the  right 
direction.  That  morning  Carron  had  been  fancying 
the  past  and  finding  Blanche  there.  Now  he  had 
had  a  sharp  impetus  forward  to  the  edge  of  the 
future.  He  looked  into  it  and  saw  an  actual  world. 

Reaching  the  house  he  found  a  check  to  the  im- 
258 


THE    SOD    ON    THE    PANE" 

mediateness  of  his  resolution.  Mrs.  Racier  and 
Blanche  were  already  busy  in  the  sewing-room,  so 
Racier,  solitary  at  the  breakfast  table,  informed  him. 
He  inquired  of  the  scholar  what  time  the  stage  went 
down  to  Beckwith.  It  was  at  about  six-thirty,  Ra- 
der  said;  and  from  Beckwith  again  it  passed  at 
about  noon.  Carron  took  a  pencil  from  his  pocket 
and  wrote  on  the  blank  back  of  an  envelope : 

"Pay  storage  on  the  stuff,  pack  it,  and  freight  it, 
and  go  home  on  the  afternoon  train."  He  signed 
this,  and  sat  considering  it.  That  was  the  wind-up 
— that  was  the  end  of  the  quest.  That  would  go 
down  to  Esmeralda  Charley  to-morrow  morning.  He 
looked  up  and  saw  the  scholar,  with  his  attentions 
lifted  from  his  book,  regarding  him  with  a  ponder- 
ing eye.  The  young  man  was  apprehensive.  He 
didn't  want  to  be  questioned  now.  He  didn't  want 
to  be  questioned  at  all.  That  was  not  the  way  he 
intended  the  thing  should  go.  He  left  the  dining- 
room,  and  walked  around  the  veranda  to  the  sewing- 
room  window.  Here  he  maneuvered  a  little  to 
avoid  Mrs.  Rader's,  and  at  the  same  time  to  attract 
Blanche's  attention.  His  beckonings  made  her 
shake  her  head. 

"By  and  by — when  I  have  a  chance,"  she  formed 
the  words  to  him  with  her  lips,  and  with  that  he 
had  to  be  content.  He  spent  some  long  hours,  and 

259 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

filled  them  only  with  his  own  impatience  and  the 
setting  alight  of  his  heaps  of  pine  needles  in  the 
clearing.  At  last,  at  noon,  she  came,  saying  she  had 
only  a  minute. 

"You'll  have  to  give  me  a  minute,"  he  said,  "and 
a  little  more.  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,"  and 
hailed  her  out. 

On  the  side  of  the  clearing,  opposite  the  house, 
and  in  plain  sight  of  it,  they  sat  down  beneath  the 
fringe  of  trees.  Below  them  flicked  pointed  flames, 
or  pale  blue  threads  rose  straight  in  the  still  air, 
making  it  more  misty.  The  smoke  of  the  little  fires 
was  in  their  nostrils,  the  odor  of  the  sacrifice  to 
winter.  "I  want  you  to  do  me  a  very  great  favor," 
Carron  said. 

"Yes."    She  was  prompt.    Had  no  hesitations. 

"Tell  your  mother  all  about  how  the  matter  stands 
with  us,"  he  said.  Then,  as  she  fixed  him  with 
doubtful  eyes,  "You  know — tell  her  that  I've  got  to 
go  back  to  the  ranch  at  the  end  of  this  week,  and  you 
are  going  too.  Aren't  you?"  he  added,  with  a  sud- 
den edge  of  anxiety  at  finding  her  silent.  Her 
breast  rose  in  long  breaths.  Her  head,  inclined 
slightly  forward,  looked  down  upon  the  fires.  "You 
knew  that  you  were,  didn't  you?"  he  insisted,  trying 
to  get  her  averted  eye. 

"O,  yes !"  She  turned  to  him  and  looked  at  him, 
260 


THE    SOD    ON    THE    PANE 

as  though  once  more  She  realized,  with  astonish- 
ment, how  well  she  knew  him.  "But  now  that  it  has 
come,  I — "  She  seemed  to  strain  at  a  leash,  aware 
perhaps  for  the  first  time  how  he  had  entrapped  her 
fleet  youth. 

"It  has  come  so  soon.  Can't  we  be  like  this  a 
little  longer?" 

"But  we  can't.  The  end  of  the  week,  perhaps 
before,  I've  got  to  be  off."  He  mused.  "I  suppose 
it  will  be  rather  a  job,  telling  your  mother.  This  is 
just  what  she  has  been  afraid  of." 

Blanche  laughed,  and  laughed  again.  "No,  you 
goose!  Don't  you  see?"  Apparently  he  did  not. 
"We  have  understood  it  so  well  from  the  very  first 
that  this  was  to  be  for  ever  and  ever!  We  forgot 
that  she  might  not  know  it." 

He  was  blank. 

"How  stupid  you  are!"  she  said  affectionately. 
"Mother  has  thought  all  along  that  you  were  a  sad 
deceiver." 

He  took  a  rapid  glance  at  the  past.  "Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  she  couldn't  see  that  I  was  the  dust 
under  your  feet?" 

"You  didn't  act  like  it." 

"i  felt  like  it  so  hard,  I  never  thought  of  any- 
thing else.  The  poor  lady!"  He  was  contrite 
enough,  even  a  little  shocked,  but  couldn't  help  feel- 

261 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

ing  amused.  Mrs.  Rader's  idea  of  the  situation 
struck  him  as  a  little  theatric.  "Then  you  must  tell 
her  now,  immediately." 

Presented  with  the  practical  proposition,  Blanche 
began  to  show  signs  of  wishing  to  evade  it.  "But 
she  is  so  busy  and  she  hates  to  be  told  things  when 
she's  busy." 

"Well,  then,  as  soon  as  she  finishes." 

"Oh,  dear,  I  hate  to.  She  will  say  we  ought  to 
wait — that  we  haven't  known  each  other  long 
enough." 

"But  we  won't  and  we  have.  The  short  time  is 
a  distinct  advantage.  You  can  tell  her  that." 

"No,  you  do  it." 

Carron  would  not  have  made  that  flippant  remark 
to  Mrs.  Rader  for  any  consideration,  and  he  sus- 
pected the  wicked  girl  knew  it.  "I  have  to  see  your 
father,"  he  said  with  dignity. 

She  looked  at  him  quaintly.  "O,  that  will  just  be 
fun!  I  can't  imagine  father  under  such  circum- 
stances. What  do  you  suppose  he  will  say  ?" 

"He  will  say  that  like  all  sinners,  I  have  great 
hopes  of  Heaven." 

They  used  frivolous,  mirthful  words,  but  their 
eyes  said  serious  things  to  each  other,  and  half 
spoken  sentences  were  forgotten  on  their  lips.  She 
was  the  first  to  remember  the  time.  "Oh,  how  long 

262 


THE    SOD   ON   THE    PANE 

have  we  been  here?  And  mother  may  be  wanting 
me !"  She  fled ;  but  at  the  veranda  steps,  she  stopped, 
conscience  smitten.  "We  forgot  all  about  him !"  she 
said. 

"Who?" 

"Beetles!"  At  the  sound  of  his  name  the  dog 
turned  his  head  with  lifted  ears,  and  weakly  moved 
his  tail. 

"He's  all  right.  He's  coming  along  nicely."  Car- 
ron  examined  his  patient  with  gratification.  "To- 
morrow he'll  be  on  his  feet." 

She  fell  on  her  knees  beside  the  terrier,  took  his 
head  between  her  hands,  murmured  reproaches  of 
herself,  and  endearing  words,  promises  of  joy  for 
the  future — she  would  even  let  him  chase  rabbits. 
Then,  springing  up,  she  flung  her  arms  around  Car- 
ron  and  whirled  him.  "What  shall  I  do  for  you, 
who  have  done  so  much  ?  It  must  be  something  very 
wonderful." 

"You  are  going  to  do  something  more  than  won- 
derful," he  answered. 

"O,  but  over  and  above  that,"  she  insisted. 

"There  is  nothing." 

She  let  him  have  his  way  with  his  conviction.  It 
was  hers  too.  She  went,  her  feet  rushing  on  the 
stair.  Never  before,  perhaps  never  afterward,  did 
they  sound  quite  that  wild,  light  music  of  joy. 

263 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

He  thought  of  it  in  his  room  that  night,  after  the 
whole  house  was  still.  Like  a  refrain  of  delight  it 
recurred  between  the  soberer  sentences  of  his  dis- 
cussion with  Rader. 

Blanche's  prophecy  had  been  fulfilled.  It  had 
been  fun  telling  the  scholar.  "What  do  you  want 
to  do  that  for?"  he  had  demanded  of  the  young 
man  who  had  announced  himself  as  wanting  to 
marry  his  daughter.  Carron,  who  two  weeks  ago, 
would  have  put  the  same  question  to  any  acquaint- 
ance, had  been  able  immediately  to  give  reasons 
as  to  why  he  was  wiser  than  all  men.  The  scholar 
had  shaken  his  head.  "But  what  is  she  going  to 
say  to  your  profession?" 

Here  he  had  struck  a  point  truly ;  but  Carron  had 
ridden  it  down.  He  had  snapped  his  fingers.  "O, 
what  difference  will  that  make  now?  She  won't 
have  to  see  anything  of  it,  and — well,  if  she  really 
can't  endure  it,  of  course  I  can  give  it  up." 

"Give  it  up!"  the  scholar  had  echoed  in  stupe- 
faction. 

"Why  not?"  Carron  had  argued,  feeling  a  little 
on  the  defensive.  "There  are  plenty  of  other  things 
I  can  do." 

Rader  had  looked  at  him  silently  for  some  sec- 
onds. "And  you  really  have  given  up  your  first 
idea?" 

264 


"You  mean  what  I  came  here  for?  It  doesn't 
seem  worth  worrying  her  about." 

"Why  need  she  be  worried  about  it  ?"  Rader  had 
answered  with  such  a  peculiar  significance  that  Car- 
ron  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  "The  horse," 
the  scholar  proceeded,  unfolding  his  meaning, 
"is  only  an  idea  to  her,  isn't  it?  She  has  no  desire 
to  possess  it.  She  only  wants  to  see  it  while  it's 
here.  She  knows  that  presently  it  will  disappear, 
go  back,  perhaps,  to  the  plains."  He  looked  dream- 
ily at  the  horse-breaker's  hands.  "Now,  suppose 
you  wanted  the  horse ;  and  suppose  you  knew  where 
it  was,  and  just  how  to  get  it ;  you  could  easily  take 
it,  couldn't  you,  and  she  would  never  be  any  the 
wiser?" 

Carron  was  rather  struck  now,  when  he  re- 
membered it.  The  old  theorizer  had  accurately 
worked  the  matter  out ;  and  certainly  he  had  hit  the 
nail  on  the  head!  It  seemed  the  scholar  and  he 
had  rather  changed  places  since  the  first  time  they 
had  talked  in  the  study.  He  could  laugh  about  it 
now  in  his  room.  But  he  had  felt  a  little  tormented 
while  Rader  had  probed  the  old  passion.  He  realized 
it  was  there  yet;  but  it  was  there  as  a  background 
for  the  new,  young,  more  fiery  passion,  which  he  had 
not  grown  up  with  and  become  accustomed  to,  but 
which  had  seized  him  in  his  full  strength,  melted  him 

265 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

and  translated  him  with  its  wonder  and  with  its 
promises.  This  held  other  thought  at  a  distance.  He 
heard  clearer  than  anything  else  the  joyous  running 
of  Blanche's  feet.  He  blew  out  his  candle,  since  al- 
ready a  brightness,  which  sifted  into  his  room  from 
without,  made  the  pointed  flames  pale.  Upon  his  floor 
and  all  across  the  wall  lay  marvelous  tracery  of 
black  and  silver,  a  perfect  mimic — lacking  only  color 
— of  the  trees  outside.  He  was  standing  in  the 
enchanted  semblance  of  a  wood.  He  remembered 
that  for  the  eight  past  days  this  brocading  had  been 
gray.  He  drew  a  curtain  aside.  The  fan  of  cloud, 
that  coquetry  of  the  moon,  was  furled  and  gone; 
the  sky  stood  deep  and  clear  above  the  pines.  The 
moon's  self  was  not  high  enough  yet  to  be  visible, 
since  to  be  visible  from  where  he  stood  she  must 
reach  nearly  mid-heaven,  but  her  radiance  was  upon 
everything. 

The  circle  of  tall  trees  solemnly  surrounding 
the  clearing  made  a  wreath  of  shadows  like  vel- 
vet, and  all  that  was  not  shadow  was  drenched  in 
clear  white  fire.  Between  the  clouded  and  the  clear 
moonlight  there  was  such  difference  as  between 
beauty  clothed  and  beauty  unveiled.  The  sight 
brought  him  thoughts,  strange  and  beautiful  past  the 
telling. 

He  let  the  curtain  fall,  and  turned  back.  The 
266 


THE    SOD    ON   THE    PANE 

hour  was  scant  eleven  o'clock,  but  the  house  was 
still.  He  was  not  tired,  not  sleepy.  He  was  pre- 
ternaturally  wide-awake.  There  seemed  to  be  an 
owl  on  the  edge  of  the  clearing,  complaining  in 
its  deep  chest  voice.  The  body  of  a  bat  struck  his 
window-screen.  The  creatures  all  came  out  with 
full  moon.  There  it  was  again,  that  sound,  a  swish 
and  a  soft  thud.  This  time  it  flew  higher  and  hit 
the  glass.  His  coat  half  off,  he  turned  and  looked 
attentively.  In  a  moment,  up-shooting  from  below, 
plop,  the  small,  dark  object  came  a  third  time.  He 
realized  now  what  was  happening.  Some  one  had 
thrown  a  sod  of  earth  lightly  against  his  window- 
pane. 


267 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  MIDDLE  OF  THE  NIGHT 

HE  went  quickly  forward  and  pushed  the  cur- 
tain wide.  Down  in  the  angle  of  black  cast 
by  the  outside  stair,  the  figure  of  Blanche  Rader  was 
standing.  Her  body  emerged  from  shadow  into 
moonlight  like  a  flower  to  the  surface  of  water. 
Knees  and  the  sweep  of  skirts  were  hidden.  Shoul- 
ders and  arms  shone  clear.  The  uncovered  throat, 
and  the  face  in  its  dark  wreath  of  hair  were  like  sil- 
ver. She  was  leaning  a  little  back,  with  limber  waist, 
hands  clasped  behind  her  head,  looking  up.  The 
mischief  of  middle  night  was  in  her  face,  subtle  and 
scarcely  smiling. 

Grasping  the  window-frame  in  both  hands,  as  if 
by  such  means  he  could  keep  the  sight  before  him, 
the  skeptic  gazed.  His  heart,  which  had  been  full 
of  her,  might  have  prompted  his  eyes  to  summon 
the  vision.  It  was  but  the  flower  of  the  time,  the 
proper  center  of  this  pale  flood  of  beauty,  far  too 
perfectly  in  tune  with  his  thoughts  to  be  real.  His 
doubts  must  have  been  thick  in  his  face,  for  sud- 

268 


THE   MIDDLE   OE  THE   NIGHT 

denly  she  laughed.  He  saw  the  gleam  of  white 
teeth  and  light  dancing  in  shadowed  eyes,  but  heard 
not  a  sound.  She  skipped  backward  a  few  paces, 
stretched  her  hands  toward  the  window,  drew  them 
back  toward  herself,  fingers  pointing  to  her  bosom; 
flung  them  wide,  fingers  pointing  around  the  clear- 
ing. This  language  of  gesture,  spirited  and  way- 
ward, declared  the  actual  woman.  If  anything  were 
needed  to  reassure  him  beyond  doubt  it  was  the 
stamped  foot  and  the  violently  shaken  head  by  which 
she  still  commanded  his  presence  at  the  window, 
when  he  would  have  left  it  for  the  outer  door.  Once 
more  pointing  at  herself,  she  showed  him  with 
stroking  gestures  how  she  wore  a  coat,  a  queer  little 
brown  thing,  a  dryad  garment,  pale  as  the  old  bark 
of  a  tree.  The  air  was  mild,  warm,  mocking  such  a 
precaution;  but  a  coat,  or  a  thousand  coats!  if  that 
was  all  she  imposed  to  reach  her ! 

He  put  on  outer  garments  with  a  mind  in  abey- 
ance. His  senses  thought,  and  were  inspired.  Open- 
ing the  door  the  breath  of  night  rushed  upon  his  face 
to  welcome  him,  sweet  and  unexpected  as  the 
woman's  seeking  him.  From  behind  the  wire 
screens  it  had  looked  as  a  picture.  Now  it  was  inti- 
mate, and  whispered  of  actual  possibilities.  The 
voice  of  the  pines  flowed  all  round  him,  murmuring 
like  a  stream  underground.  He  looked  over  the 

269 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

edge  of  the  little  balcony.  No  form,  no  face,  either 
of  woman  or  spirit.  Nothing  stirred  in  the  clearing, 
nor  in  the  angle  made  by  the  outside  stair.  The 
black  likeness  of  it  which  the  moon  flung  upon  the 
ground,  was  as  deep  and  opaque  as  any  well;  but 
even  water  shows  faintly  the  forms  beneath  it.  He 
leaned  down  over  the  rail  and  spoke  her  name  under 
his  breath.  Not  a  sound  replied.  Feeling  bewitched 
he  descended  the  stair.  Reaching  the  foot  of  it, 
immediately  his  fingers  were  grasped  by  a  cool  palm 
and  he  was  drawn  into  the  shadow. 

Plunged  into  darkness  with  her  he  could  see  her. 
Her  eyes  looked  black  as  the  sky  and  radiant  with 
excitement.  The  moon  had  taken  the  color  from  her 
lips.  They  were  pale  as  an  elf's.  She  took  him  by 
both  arms  and  held  him  off  from  her,  looking  at 
him  up  and  down  with  a  bright  enigmatic  gaze ;  but 
whether  it  demanded  to  know  of  him  if  he  was  in- 
deed the  greatest  of  men  in  the  world,  or  whether 
it  only  spoke  to  him  of  the  mystery  of  night,  or  some 
mystery  beyond  the  night,  it  was  impossible  to  tell. 
She  laid  a  forbidding  finger  on  his  mouth  when  he 
would  have  kissed  her.  He  tried  to  clasp  her,  but 
slippery  as  quicksilver  she  retreated  before  him. 

"Come — this  way,"  she  murmured,  and  pulled 
him  after  her. 

Half  running  he  followed,  keeping  close  under 
270 


THE    MIDDLE    OF    THE    NIGHT 

the  piazza  rail  where  the  only  shadow  extended  was 
a  narrow  band  like  a  ribbon,  past  the  steps  where 
the  first  night  she  appeared  to  him  as  an  arm  ex- 
tended out  of  darkness,  and  round  the  comer  of  the 
old  wing,  coming  out  before  the  front  of  the  greater 
house. 

"Where  are  we  going?"  he  whispered. 

"Sh-h-h!"  She  clung  to  the  wall,  holding  them 
both  still,  listening.  It  was  only  the  owl  that  had 
spoken.  She  put  her  lips  close  to  Carron's  ear. 
"Follow  me  around  the  edge  of  the  clearing.  Do 
exactly  as  I  do.  Don't  speak." 

The  hotel  with  all  its  windows  looked  blank  and 
dead  as  the  face  of  a  rock.  It  buttressed  them  from 
the  live  part  of  the  house.  In  its  shelter  she  ran 
fearlessly,  but  with  remarkably  light  noiseless  steps, 
and  slipped  into  the  trees  on  the  left  side  of  the 
drive.  Here  he  had  ado  to  keep  her  in  sight.  Now 
the  white  back  of  a  neck  gleamed,  now  a  hand  shone, 
laid  an  instant  against  a  tree  trunk;  but  chiefly  he 
tracked  her  as  an  animated  shadow  gliding  rapidly 
among  shadows  that  were  still,  and  leaving  a  waving 
of  branches  in  its  wake.  She  slid  down  the  bank 
with  a  cascading  of  earth  into  the  road  just  at  the 
point  where  it  turned  from  the  clearing  to  descend 
the  hill;  and  they  stood  together  in  the  same  place 
where  Carron  and  Ferrier  had  stood  that  morning. 

271 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

"What  an  awful  lot  of  noise  you  make!"  she 
whispered.  "Sound  carries  in  this  air." 

"I  can't  help  it,  I'm  not  a  feather.  If  you  would 
only  keep  still  a  minute — " 

She  flitted  just  beyond  his  reach — seemed  to  be 
there  already  without  having  run  away. 

"Look  over  there,"  she  said,  pointing  downward 
through  the  trees.  "That  way  you  will  see  the 
moon." 

The  moon!  What  was  the  moon  to  him,  unless 
the  reflection  of  her?  What  had  the  whole  earth 
been  to  her  only  yesterday  but  a  place  in  which  to 
stand  and  be  embraced?  Now  she  could  look  at  a 
bright  spot  above  a  scallop  of  trees  with  eyes  that 
had  forgotten  him.  Yet,  after  they  had  swept  the 
trees,  the  ground,  the  sky,  they  returned  again,  as 
to  the  center  of  a  circle,  to  his  face. 

"Are  you  coming  ?" 

"You  mad  woman,  where  are  you  taking  us?" 
She  answered  with  a  pressure  of  the  hand,  and  be- 
gan to  take  dancing  steps,  as  if  what  her  eyes  saw 
around  here  was  music  to  her.  She  moved  in  front 
of  him  with  darting  motions,  now  to  this  side  of  the 
road,  now  to  the  other.  House  and  clearing  disap- 
peared behind  them.  A  fretwork  of  white  and  black 
streamed  upon  their  faces.  They  passed  the  gate- 
posts that  rose  upon  their  progress  like  phantoms. 

272 


THE   MIDDLE   OF   THE    NIGHT 

The  thought  of  the  old  spring  well  came  to  him.  She 
was  leading  him  there,  perhaps;  but  past  the  place 
where  the  path  turned  off  she  went  without  a  look 
toward  it.  As  the  descent  grew  sharper  her  dancing 
steps  became  a  run.  Not,  it  seemed,  in  apprehension 
of  anything  that  might  pursue,  but  wild  with  pleas- 
ure, like  a  child  dashing  out  of  an  open  door.  They 
raced  each  other,  swinging  around  turns,  losing  cau- 
tion on  the  firm  road,  ceasing  to  think  of  feet,  seem- 
ing to  fly.  Little  creatures  darted  across  their  way. 
A  fox  dashing  in  front  of  them  showed  them  round 
eyes  of  gold  and  left  them  laughing. 

The  fork  of  the  road  brought  a  momentary  halt. 
There  was  more  black  here  than  light.  The  fancy 
he  had  had  when  he  looked  at  the  walls  of  his  room 
had  become  real.  They  were  together  among  a 
tracery  of  forest  branches.  Yet  these  things  were 
never  as  they  were  imagined.  She  was  not.  He 
could  not  touch  her.  Her  hand  slipped  from  him 
like  light  or  water. 

"Won't  they  know  we  have  gone?"  he  asked. 

"Well,  we  will  have  gone,"  she  answered,  and 
laughed.  The  inconsequent,  reckless  note  made  him 
uneasy,  yet  it  excited  him.  She  made  him  feel  as 
though  there  were  no  house  anywhere,  no  brains 
to  be  flushed,  nor  hearts  to  be  cold,  whatever  might 
become  of  the  two  in  the  hollow  of  the  hills,  in  the 

273 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

night.  She  began  to  walk  rapidly  up  the  road, 
which  stretched  like  a  thin  white  wand  between  high 
walls  of  trees. 

The  frolic  of  the  woodland  deity  seemed  to  have 
settled  into  an  intense  purpose.  It  was  carrying  her 
forward  at  a  pace  that  did  not  slacken  to  the  crest 
of  the  slope.  Here  they  dipped  over  into  a  dimple 
of  land.  Upon  the  right,  below  the  road,  he  saw 
the  mossy  roof  he  had  noticed  when  he  rode  back 
from  his  adventure  of  the  Sphinx.  The  wagon 
track  which  led  downward  looked  clearer  than  it  had 
by  day.  Without  hesitation  Blanche  turned  into  it. 

Carron  halted,  astonished.  "Where  are  you  go- 
ing?" 

She  hung  on  her  heel,  and  pointed  on. 

"Whose  house  is  that?" 

"Ferriers'."  She  had  scarcely  pronounced  the 
word  before  she  had  turned  and  disappeared  under 
the  low  hanging  branches  of  the  pines. 

Mystified,  angry,  wondering  what  madness  she 
had  in  her  head,  he  ran  after.  She  was  in  the  door- 
yard  before  he  could  reach  her.  There  was  only  a 
narrow  space  of  earth  some  four  feet  broad  between 
house  and  canon,  and  the  trees  stood  at  its  edge, 
reaching  arms  across  it  like  a  roof.  The  sagged, 
unpainted  house  front  looked  dark  and  disinhabited. 
Blanche  made  a  warning  gesture  for  silence,  and 

274 


THE    MIDDLE   OF   THE    NIGHT 

began  moving  cautiously  down  the  clearing,  keeping 
close  under  the  windows  as  she  had  when  they  had 
passed  the  hotel.  Past  the  door,  and  past  the  corner 
of  the  house,  and  to  the  farther  edge  of  the  clearing. 
Here  she  turned,  smiled,  and  touched  Carron  with 
propitiatory  fingers.  "He  isn't  there,"  she  whis- 
pered. "He  is  in  town  for  the  night.  I  arranged 
it,"  and,  without  waiting  for  further  explanation, 
stepped  over  a  low  ledge  of  rock  as  sharp  as  the 
edge  of  a  table. 

From  here  an  empty,  almost  barren,  stretch  of  hill- 
side, scattered  stones  and  wider  scattered  pines,  ex- 
tended downward  to  a  solid  mass  of  trees.  Beyond 
these  the  dark  heads  of  the  Sugar  Loafs  stood 
against  a  bright  sky.  There  was  no  time  for  amaze- 
ment, scarcely  time  to  think  how  to  find  footing,  if 
he  were  to  keep  up  with  her.  She  kept  a  good  three 
yards  in  front,  stopping  now  and  then  to  scan  what 
lay  below,  but  seeming  never  at  a  loss.  She  was 
aiming,  it  appeared,  for  the  formidable  black  en- 
campment in  the  canon,  and  aiming  for  one  spot  in 
its  impregnable  front.  It  was  austere  and  large 
enough  to  awe  even  a  woodsman's  eye,  seeing  it  for 
the  first  time,  but  the  girl  approached  it  with  the 
assurance  of  one  treading  known  ground.  She  did 
not  hesitate  even  when  she  stood  on  the  verge  of  it. 
No  break  in  the  trees  was  visible,  from  beneath  their 

275 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

feet,  but  a  trail  unwound  like  a  clue,  a  white  plum- 
met dropped  into  the  canon. 

"It's  rather  rough,"  she  said  and  reached  him  her 
hand.  She  said  it  as  she  would  have  said  "The  back 
stairs  are  steep."  They  plunged,  and  were  swal- 
lowed from  each  other's  eyes. 

He  had  started  boldly  as  the  leader,  but  presently 
imperceptibly  it  was  she  who  drew  him.  He  had 
the  enchanting  and  perilous  sensation  of  being  led 
by  an  unseen  presence.  The  well  of  darkness  was 
without  a  gleam.  Two  senses  bound  her  to  him  in 
oblivion :  the  sense  of  touch — five  fingers  told  him 
•she  was  there — and  the  ear  which  caught  sound — 
a  sound  both  of  life  and  of  mortality — the  sound  of 
feet  stumbling  and  catching  hold  upon  earth.  Some- 
times a  sweep  of  branches,  inhuman  fingers,  brushed 
his  face.  Presently  she  began  to  murmur  to  him, 
"Better  slide  here.  Reach  up  and  catch  hold  of  the 
branches.  Look  out  for  the  rocks  there.  Keep  to 
the  left  side  here." 

The  smell  of  the  canon  rose  to  them,  night  dew 
upon  leaf  mold.  Then  came  the  rift  in  the  trees,  the 
ripple  of  silver,  the  stream  of  the  moon  where  the 
stream  of  water  flowed  in  spring.  They  had  reached 
the  bottom  of  the  canon.  "Step  on  the  stones," 
she  advised,  "the  sand  is  boggy."  He  had  plunged 
a  leg  in  almost  to  the  knee  before  he  could  stop  him- 

276 


THE    MIDDLE    OF   THE    NIGHT 

self;  and,  as  he  recovered  footing,  the  cluck  of  the 
sand,  the  sensation  of  being  pulled,  brought  up  an- 
other moment  under  the  beating  sun  at  the  foot  of 
a  cliff. 

Across  the  ford  they  were  upon  a  more  level  way. 
On  this  side  the  rise  of  the  land  from  the  creek 
was  gradual,  and  the  trail,  made  by  cattle  to  the 
water,  was  easy  to  follow.  It  drifted  along  at  the 
foot  of  the  hills,  growing  fainter  as  the  trees  grew 
thin.  Fifteen  minutes,  and  he  heard  a  sound  his 
ear  recognized,  often  heard  at  such  an  hour  of  night 
— the  trampling  to  and  fro  of  feet,  and  tossing  of 
branches  as  if  restless  bodies  moved  among  them. 
"There  are  horses !"  he  said. 

"Yes."  The  sentence  fell  unsurprised.  She 
looked  down  significantly,  and  by  the  glance  drew 
his  attention  to  the  fact  that  she  wore  her  riding 
skirt.  A  few  steps  farther  and  swinging  stirrups, 
bright  eyes  under  forelocks,  and  glossy  flanks  ap- 
peared. He  recognized  Blanche's  mustang,  droop- 
ing like  a  stoic — but  this  other  creature  that  was 
threshing  among  the  pine  leaves — could  that  be  the 
chestnut — his  mare?  Early  in  the  evening  he  had 
left  her  safe  in  stable.  Here  she  stood  in  the  wil- 
derness, blanketed  and  tied  to  a  dead  pine.  She 
flung  up  a  startled  head — and,  seeing  Carron,  whin- 
nied. He  ran  to  her,  felt  her,  and  found  her  right 

277 


SON   OE   THE   .WIND 

enough,  though  very  impatient,  and  turned  his 
amazement  on  his  companion.  "How  did  she  get 
here?" 

"Down  the  trail.  It  was  quite  easy,"  Blanche  an- 
swered. "I  brought  them  before  dark." 

"Before  dark!  Good  Lord — six  hours  ago!"  He 
was  horrified.  "You  shouldn't  have  left  her  here 
like  that !  Six  hours !  Suppose  something  had  hap- 
pened!" 

"What  could?  She  is  covered,  and  there  are  no 
animals  around  that  would  attack  a  horse." 

"I  say  you  had  no  business  to  do  it.  It's  risky, 
and  we  don't  need  them." 

"But  we  do!" 

His  anger  grew  faint  in  astonishment.  "Then 
why  couldn't  we  have  gone  some  other  way?" 

"We  couldn't." 

He  stared.  She,  sensitive  to  the  lightest  disap- 
proving word,  was  undisturbed  by  his  heat,  imper- 
turbable, smiling.  There  was  no  being  angry  with 
this  girl,  whose  bright  enigmatic  glance  promised 
enchantment,  if  only  he  would  risk  a  horse,  and  a 
wild  way,  and  follow  her.  Many  horses  might  be 
ridden  to  death  for  her,  and  more  dangerous  ways 
than  this  followed  with  her.  His  anger  had  sprung 
from  the  fixed  passions  of  his  life,  the  distinctive 
predeliction  that  was  part  of  his  character,  but  there 

278 


THE    MIDDLE   OF   THE    NIGHT 

was  the  other  passion  working  in  him  to-night,  the 
older  more  universal  feeling  which  he  shared  in 
common  with  the  trees  and  the  moon.  And  this  was 
the  middle  of  the  night,  the  hour  she  had  called  her 
own.  They  stood  on  the  edge  of  it.  Memories  and 
half  memories  whispered  in  his  mind — Blanche  in 
the  ancient  shade  of  cedars  speaking  to  him  of  the 
odd  hours,  moonrise  at  sunset,  and  yellow  of  dawn. 
He  lifted  her  bodily  into  saddle  and  stood  holding 
her  with  both  hands. 

She  leaned  down,  resting  hers  on  his  shoulders. 
"What  time  is  it  ?"  she  whispered. 

The  white  silly  little  face  of  the  timekeeper  with 
busy  hands  measuring  moments  was  to  be  their  last 
glimpse  of  the  common  world  that  night.  They  had 
left  the  common  world  behind  on  the  other  side  of 
the  forest,  and  were  riding  out  through  the  raveling 
fringe  of  trees  into  a  naked  and  radiant  plain.  A 
ripple  of  light  was  beginning  to  flow  among  the 
pines.  The  moon,  that  had  been  so  slow  in  reveal- 
ing herself,  was  growing  golden  and  bold  above  the 
heads  of  the  "Sugar  Loafs,"  until,  as  the  riders 
left  the  last  of  the  trees,  she  released  her  hold  of  the 
mountain  tops  and  dared  to  float  out  into  heaven. 
She  stood  high,  and  poured  her  radiance  down 
straight.  Far  on  the  left  it  showed  him  a  freckled 
rolling  country,  a  cliff  looking  the  height  of  a  child's 

279 


SON   OE  THE   WIND 

leap,  and  at  its  foot  a  streak  no  wider  than  a  black 
ribbon.  On  the  right  the  hills  were  near  and  sharp 
like  an  embattlement  Between  these  higher  lands 
the  level  lay,  filled  with  the  moon.  Moving  in  the 
thick  atmosphere  of  light  Carron  felt  it  like  a  de- 
licious element  more  volatile  than  water,  more  pal- 
pable than  air,  traveling  in  gradual  ways  that  floated 
toward  him.  It  was  the  floodtide  of  night,  of  which 
she  had  spoken,  when  the  sky  and  earth  have  ex- 
changed hues,  the  bright  for  the  dark,  and  both  are 
at  the  full  pulse  of  life.  Within  Carron,  too,  tide 
stood  at  flood,  the  tide  of  spirit  and  blood  that 
sweeps  the  will,  and  with  it,  makes  a  triple  strength. 
The  elation  of  being  abroad  at  this  hour,  of  seeing 
the  bright  edges  of  the  earth  on  every  side,  feeling 
no  limits  to  distance  that  might  be  traveled  or  won- 
ders that  might  be  born  of  such  loveliness,  were  all 
an  outer  circle  of  emotion  moving  around  the 
woman. 

Close  beside  him,  swaying  a  little  in  the  saddle, 
poised  on  wiry  waist,  she  appeared  less  like  herself 
than  some  sketch  of  her  caught  by  the  lightning  of  a 
master's  hand — all  blacks  and  whites,  her  eyes  two 
velvet  splendors,  her  body  outlined  with  a  silver  rim. 
Her  lips  were  a  little  open  as  if  to  taste  the  sweet- 
ness of  the  wind,  and  she  leaned  into  it  away  from 
him,  giving  herself  to  the  bodiless  caress.  Her 

280 


THE    MIDDLE    OF   THE    NIGHT 

glance  turned  now  upon  the  hills,  now  upward  at 
the  net  of  stars,  as  if  she  found  these  things 
as  real  as  himself,  as  near  to  her  and  as  awake  to 
delight. 

When  she  looked  again  at  Carron  it  was  with 
the  expectation  that  he  saw  what  was  around  them 
as  she  saw  it ;  but  the  fine  senses  in  her  that  made 
her  feel  kinship  to  inanimate  things  was  dilated  be- 
yond his  following.  He  felt  the  influence  of  the 
moon  as  a  bath,  but  it  seemed  to  have  entered  into 
her  veins,  making  her  more  than  woman.  The  crea- 
ture whom  he  had  thought  petted  and  tamed  be- 
neath his  hand,  had  sprung  away  from  him.  Her 
eyes,  which  had  seen  farther  than  his,  reflected 
more,  showed  living  thoughts  undiscovered  of 
him,  alluring  in  their  half  concealment,  seeming  to 
peer  at  him  from  just  beneath  the  surface.  He 
wanted  to  conquer  this  untamed  alien  and  make  it 
his  own.  No  thought  prompted  that  this  is  a  thing 
no  one  makes  his  own;  since,  conquered,  it  dies  or 
changes  into  something  else.  But  of  change  who 
would  think,  with  the  moon  and  the  woman  in  his 
eyes?  He  was  losing  his  exact  sense  of  direction. 
He  was  unaware  of  how  far  the  objects  in  the  land- 
scape had  retreated  from  his  conscious  vision,  until 
her  hand  upon  his  arm  startled  him.  The  fingers  of 
fate  could  not  have  fallen  more  prompt  and  soft  nor 

281 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

with  more  exigent  pressure,  telling  him,  "Wait; 
here's  the  time  and  the  place." 

He  had  halted  before  he  looked.  They  had  come 
up  almost  to  the  foot  of  the  wall  of  hills.  They  must 
have  approached  it  over  the  level  in  a  gradually 
slanted  course,  for  at  no  time  had  he  seen  it  in  front 
of  him.  He  had  been  aware  of  it  all  the  while  upon 
his  right  as  a  darkish  background  to  Blanche's  head ; 
but  now  the  horses  had  stopped  just  beyond  the  long 
slides  of  scattered  stone,  and  what  had  appeared  as 
a  continuous  rampart  separated  itself  into  overlap- 
ping pyramids  and  columns ;  what  at  a  little  distance 
had  worn  a  dark  luster  now  looked  lighter  than  the 
plain. 

Immediately  in  front  of  him  a  great  pale  mass 
of  rock  rose,  upcropping  from  a  base  of  earth. 
The  Sugar  Loaf  upon  its  right  lapped  behind  it.  The 
one  on  the  left  leaned  upon  it,  overtopping  it  with 
tall  cliff-like  pinnacles,  curved  at  the  crest  as  if  the 
winds  of  centuries  had  bent  it.  Between  these  two 
lay  a  thin  edge  of  shadow,  like  a  black  knife.  It 
encroached  not  at  all  upon  the  lighted  front.  From 
the  stones  at  its  feet  to  the  crown  the  greater  rock 
was  all  one  high  clear  tone,  higher  and  clearer  than 
white.  The  moon  above  it  lit  it  like  a  lantern  held 
to  a  face.  Gray,  yellow,  silver,  who  could  say  what 
color  or  if  there  were  color  at  all?  It  had  a  luster  at 

282 


THE   MIDDLE   OK   THE   NIGHT 

least,  an  extraordinary  radiance.  Just  so,  though  it 
had  no  form  suggesting  human  shape,  yet  it  had  a 
presence.  A  character  was  in  it  beyond  that  of  its 
fellows,  and  as  Carron  gazed  he  became  aware  grad- 
ually of  an  untraceable  expression,  which  was  not 
the  expression  of  a  human  face,  nor  of  any  human 
thought,  but  the  ineffable  look  there  is  on  insensate 
things,  the  look  perhaps  of  Eternity. 

To  this  power  overshadowing  them,  which, 
should  it  topple,  would  crush  them  and  be  unaware, 
Blanche  raised  her  eyes  with  a  glance  that  hailed  it. 
Following  her  gaze  his  remained  fixed  at  the  point 
where  the  crest  of  the  rock  jutted  on  the  black  sky. 
It  was  shaped  like  a  helmet  with  wing-like  pieces  on 
either  side.  His  glance  rushed  down  the  front  of 
the  thing.  Looked  at  from  beneath  it  was  fore- 
shortened, the  hollowed  neck  was  hidden  and  the 
window  which  had  led  him  with  its  eye  of  distance 
was  lost.  The  whole  form  was  flung  out  of  propor- 
tion by  nearness  and  too  great  reality.  The  strange 
transformation  from  the  imagined  to  the  actual  had 
taken  place,  and  the  actual  appeared  less  real  than 
fancy. 

It  was  not  in  this  fashion  he  had  expected  to  come 
to  the  feet  of  the  Sphinx,  nor  thus  he  had  thought 
to  find  her,  hiding  the  loophole  by  which  she  had 
first  led  him.  He  began  to  wonder  if  the  loophole 

283' 


SON  OF  THE  WIND: 

had  been  of  his  imagining,  or  was  the  helmet  shape 
he  saw  now  a  piece  of  his  fancy. 

Again  Blanche's  fingers  touched  his  arm.  She 
spoke  to  him  in  a  low  voice.  "Keep  well  out  until 
we  are  on  the  left  of  her.  .We  can  ride  in  there  quite 
close.  See  that  rock  on  the  ground,  the  large  one 
with  the  neck?  We  can  tie  the  horses  there." 

It  was  this  girl  when  he  had  pointed  out  the 
Sphinx  from  afar,  who  had  surveyed  it  with  un- 
recognizing  eyes,  and  turning  her  back,  passed  it  by 
like  a  clandestine  friend  in  a  crowd.  Now  she 
named  it  with  the  sex  its  aspect  claimed,  she  moved 
around  its  feet  as  if  the  ground  here  were  familiar 
to  her.  She  went  with  the  extraordinary  rapidity 
he  had  noticed  in  her  when  she  had  an  object  in  her 
mind,  as  if  the  quickest  time  was  too  long  for  get- 
ting at  what  she  wanted.  Before  his  astonishment 
could  shape  itself  on  his  lips  she  was  out  of  saddle 
and  running  across  the  interval  of  space,  her  shadow 
flying  small  beneath  her  feet.  Her  feet  were  climb- 
ing in  the  slide  of  stones  before  he  had  done  fasten- 
ing the  horses. 

Was  she  trying  to  get  away  from  him?  he  won- 
dered. The  questions  that  had  been  on  his  tongue 
were  forgotten.  He  needed  his  breath,  all  of  it,  if 
he  meant  to  get  abreast  of  her ;  and  even  with  lungs 
like  bellows  and  the  feet  of  Mercury,  reaching  her 

284 


THE    MIDDLE   OF   THE    NIGHT 

seemed  a  forlorn  hope.  For,  lighter  than  he,  and 
possessed  of  some  devil  of  agility,  she  made  better 
headway.  She  had  some  yards  start  of  him.  Ava- 
lanches of  soil  slid  from  her  nimble  heels  upon  him, 
and  avalanches  sliding  beneath  his  own  feet  carried 
him  back  a  part  of  every  advance  he  made,  trying  to 
catch  at  rooted  substance  to  stop  himself,  but  there 
was  nothing  rooted.  Everything  was  swept  back 
together.  Whither,  in  such  a  fury  of  haste?  The 
pyramid  of  earth,  slippery  though  it  was,  was  child's 
play.  But  at  the  top  of  it  was  planted  the  mountain 
of  stone,  a  solid  breadth  without  discernable  place 
where  foot  could  find  passage.  Yet  she  was  ap- 
proaching it  without  hesitation,  as  though  she  ex- 
pected, when  she  reached  it,  a  door  in  the  blank 
front  would  open  at  a  touch.  He  was  scarcely  half- 
way up  the  ascent  when  he  saw  her  reach  and  catch 
the  first  firm  outcropping.  Edging  cautiously  up 
over  treacherous-looking  terraces,  of  mixed  shale 
and  earth,  she  rested  her  knee  and  both  hands  on  a 
little  projecting  edge;  with  a  spring,  drew  herself 
up;  so  paused,  kneeling;  and,  being  human,  looked 
dark  upon  the  breast  of  the  Sphinx. 

For  a  moment  she  remained  balanced  perilously 
against  what  appeared  the  sheer  face  of  the  rock. 
Her  glance  rose  like  a  bird  to  the  forehead  of  stone, 
than  darted  to  the  left  past  it.  She  made  a  motion. 

285 


SON   OF   THE  .WIND 

He  could  not  tell  whether  she  had  slipped  or  pur- 
posely flung  herself  forward  on  hands  and  knees. 
In  another  moment  she  had  vanished.  She  seemed 
to  have  melted  into  the  face  of  the  cliff.  He  shouted 
aloud  in  horror.  Immediately  her  head  and  shoul- 
ders reappeared.  She  had  neither  been  swallowed 
by  an  unexpected  chasm  nor  perversely  fled  from 
him.  She  was  waiting  for  him,  peering  at  him  over 
some  invisible  edge  like  a  pale  brown  elf-woman, 
beckoning  to  him,  as  he  drew  nearer,  offering  him 
a  helping  hand  which  she  could  not  compel  him  to 
take. 

;  He  drew  himself  up  beside  her,  and  found  her 
sitting  on  a  broad  ledge  of  rock  perhaps  five  feet 
deep.  There  had  been  no  shadow  to  point  it  out  to 
him  from  below,  for  the  moon  stood  overhead ;  and 
no  difference  of  color  or  perspective  to  trace  it,  since 
the  moon,  obliterating  these,  showed  nothing  but  the 
fine  line  of  the  edge  which  his  eye  had  missed.  But 
now,  upon  it,  he  saw  it  was  like  a  bench  or  a  project- 
ing collar,  which  seemed  to  extend  all  around  the 
greater  mass  of  the  stone. 

"Why  did  you  do  that?"  he  panted. 

"Do  what?" 

i  "Rush  up  here  ahead  of  me,  before  I  could  speak 
to  you." 

"Because  I  didn't  want  you  to.    You  might  have 
286 


THE   MIDDLE   OF   THE    NIGHT 

asked  where  we  were  going,  and  I  didn't  want  to 
say — not  then." 

The  words  sank  into  his  mind.  He  received  the 
clear  impression  that  she  had  some  thought  beyond 
the  moon  and  the  night ;  but  it  did  not  occur  to  him 
as  a  discovery,  nor  as  being  in  any  way  strange, 
no  more  than  it  seemed  strange  to  be  poised  here  on 
a  ledge  between  heaven  and  earth.  He  had  come  up 
to  these  things  too  gradually.  He  was,  indeed,  far 
off  the  ordinary  tracks  men  follow,  far,  far  away 
from  the  usual  happenings  of  life.  Yet  once  leap 
up  to  the  high  plane  of  the  unusual  and  all  lesser 
marvels  upon  it  follow  as  a  matter  of  course. 

He  had  hardly  time  to  get  breath  before  she  had 
risen  to  her  feet.  The  ledge  where  they  stood 
stopped  on  the  right,  cut  off  like  a  shelf.  On  the 
left  it  followed  the  sweep  of  the  stone  above,  dis- 
appearing into  the  thin  knife  of  shadow;  but  it  was 
not  in  this  direction  Blanche  looked,  but  up  at  the 
rock  itself.  Too  near  to  take  in  the  aspect  of  the 
face,  the  outline  of  the  Sphinx  nevertheless  ap- 
peared undistorted.  The  side  pieces  jutted  and  over- 
hung the  thick  column  that  was  the  throat;  the 
shoulders  swelled  from  this,  a  slippery,  wicked-look- 
ing surface  to  travel  for  the  bold  soul  who  might 
aspire  to  clasp  her  neck.  The  overlapping  wrinkles 
of  stone  had  been  wrought  upon  by  centuries  of 

287 


SON   OF   THE   LWIND 

weather.  The  forehead  was  worn  by  wind,  the 
cheeks  by  rains,  and  across  the  breast  a  gash,  as  if 
the  sword  of  the  storm  had  cleft  her.  From  the 
ledge  on  the  right  it  extended  upward  to  the  left 
shoulder,  and  there  disappeared  in  the  shadow.  Or 
was  it  only  shadow  ?  The  space  between  the  Sphinx's 
helmet  and  shoulder  looked  profound  as  the  pit. 
Blanche  hesitated,  and  looked  at  Carron.  "You 
know  there's  only  a  chance  we  will  see  anything." 

The  meaning  of  the  words  were  accepted  in  his 
mind  as  soon  as  they  were  spoken.  "Let's  go  on," 
he  answered.  His  voice  sounded  oddly  to  him.  He 
felt  wide-awake,  but  it  was  like  being  wide-awake  in 
a  dream.  He  saw  her  moving  in  front  of  him  and 
had  no  fear  that  she  might  fall.  She  appeared  to 
him  more  spirit  of  the  rocks  than  woman.  Some 
quality  in  his  emotion  had  changed.  Excitement 
was  mounting  from  his  senses  into  his  brain.  It 
seemed  to  him  he  had  gone  very  far,  farther  even  in 
his  thoughts  than  his  feet  had  climbed  above  solid 
earth.  The  sound  of  pebbles  loosened  and  falling 
spoke  to  him  of  how  far  that  was.  He  was  leaving 
the  thick  golden  radiance  that  dwelt  in  the  plain. 
He  felt  it  slip  from  his  shoulders  like  water  as  he 
ascended  into  a  thinner,  keener,  more  crystal  air. 
The  moon  was  pinned  tight  in  a  purple  sky.  The 
atmosphere  was  motionless  upon  his  cheek,  until  he 

288 


THE    MIDDLE    OF    THE    NIGHT 

came  up  over  the  Sphinx's  shoulder.  Here  a  great 
sigh  breathed  upon  them  out  of  that  mouth  of 
darkness.  A  sudden  draft,  a  sharp  drawn  line 
where  all  that  was  known  ended.  They  stood  on  the 
edge  of  the  window  of  the  Sphinx,  and  the  short 
locks  on  his  forehead  were  stirred  by  a  wind  from 
nowhere. 

The  rock  closed  in  on  three  sides  of  them.  It  was 
strange  to  be  thus  pressed  upon  by  walls  after  miles 
of  a  wide  open,  but  it  was  not  grim  as  he  had  antici- 
pated. It  was  like  dipping  into  black  velvet.  The 
footing  was  firm  and  only  a  little  slanted.  He  went 
forward  easily,  keeping  one  hand  on  the  solid  rock. 
The  wind  blew  steadily  in  his  face,  and  it  was  no 
caverned  air,  but  dry,  chilly  and  smelling  of  forests. 
At  first  he  could  see  nothing.  Blanche  was  present 
only  as  an  echo  and  the  flutter  of  a  skirt ;  but  pres- 
ently he  began  to  distinguish  the  outline  of  her  body, 
moving  on  in  front  of  him,  against  a  faintly  bright 
distance ;  suddenly  above  his  right  shoulder  shone  a 
star.  He  felt  a  thrill  at  his  heart.  His  eyes  were 
ready  for  the  long-fancied  unimaginable  sight.  To 
peer  at  the  edge  of  the  unknown,  the  high  sensation 
of  the  expectant  soul!  He  felt  a  lightening  of  the 
air  above  him.  His  companion  stopped.  She  was 
no  longer  in  front  of  him,  but  beside  him.  In  front 
of  him  was  a  sheet  of  deep  blue  hazed  with  white. 

289 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

He  saw  neither  what  was  above  his  head  nor  be- 
neath his  feet,  but  only  what  was  in  front  of  him, 
too  far  to  reach  yet  not  too  far  to  be  real,  not 
painted  with  the  colors  of  distance  but  still  over- 
hung by  the  glamour  of  it — the  poetic  and  terrific 
spectacle  of  the  great  brood  of  mountains. 

Their  multiplying  summits  were  all  in  piercing 
silver  light.  It  ran  in  outline  down  their  shoulders. 
On  their  ledges  and  divides  shadows  like  wings  were 
folded.  The  canon's  depth  was  one  black  shadow 
from  side  to  side,  the  trees  like  black  waves  driving 
up  the  ravines.  The  arch  of  the  sky  above  him  was 
immense,  the  canon  was  the  converse  hollow.  The 
woven  lines  of  summits  binding  the  two  stood  stark 
in  the  radiance,  frozen  with  silence.  The  trees,  the 
cold  white  fire  of  the  moon,  the  night-hawk,  that  di- 
vided the  air  with  his  wings  shooting  downward 
like  a  plummet,  were  all  a  part  of  one  thing,  one 
strength,  one  awful  unconsciousness  of  strength.  In 
the  face  of  it  the  man's  strength  was  faint.  The 
sense  of  being  human,  of  being  vulnerable  and  mor- 
tal came  over  him.  He  stretched  out  his  hand,  un- 
aware that  he  did  so,  and  clasped  the  woman's.  It 
responded  with  a  tremulous  pressure.  But  he 
scarcely  felt  it.  He  drew  her  toward  him,  yet 
hardly  knew  that  she  was  there.  The  awe  of  what 
was  around  them  had  entered  his  blood.  The  beauty 

290 


THE    MIDDLE   OF   THE    NIGHT 

of  it  filled  his  eyes.    The  pagan  in  him  trembled  and 
worshiped. 

At  the  first  his  ears  had  taken  in  only  silence.  But 
that  dwelt  high  among  peaks  where  his  eyes  had 
been  fixed.  Now  he  became  aware  of  a  sound  rising 
from  beneath  so  hoarse  and  faint  that  it  made  a 
greater  loneliness.  He  looked  down,  and  realized 
he  was  standing,  not  only  the  height  of  the  Sphinx, 
but  of  the  whole  rolling  plateau  behind  him.  He 
had  not  realized  how  far  above  the  other  land  this 
lay ;  but  now  he  could  look  down  upon  the  running 
backs  of  lesser  hills,  each  outline  painted  by  the 
moon.  Over  these  he  had  looked  into  the  great 
canon,  among  these  the  river  wandered  and  com- 
plained; and  into  these  the  Sphinx's  pedestal  de- 
scended. Carron  could  see  the  slide  of  the  earth  and 
the  scattering  trees  beneath  him.  To  a  bird  the  dis- 
tance had  been  no  great  matter,  but  for  a  man  still 
in  love  with  life  there  must  be  some  other  way  than 
the  smooth  thirty  feet  of  stone.  No  ledges  here, 
once  they  were  over  the  ledge  of  the  shoulder;  but 
this  itself  was  broad  and  stretched  out  to  the  left 
where  the  Sphinx's  neighbor  crowded  upon  her.  At 
a  point  here  the  two  seemed  knitted  into  one,  and 
from  the  precipitous  back  of  the  one  to  the  easy 
swell  of  the  other's  side  was  a  step.  The  extraor- 
dinary path  he  was  following,  with  splendors  for  the 

291 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

eye  and  terrors  for  the  imagination  was  at  every 
turn  possible  and  easy  for  the  feet. 

They  went  down  over  long  shallow  terraces,  for 
the  spread  of  this  eminence  was  slow  as  it  neared 
the  depth.  The  moon  had  sunk  away  until  it  stood 
above  the  Sphinx's  head.  The  great  canon  sank 
behind  the  company  of  hills.  In  their  black  hollow 
a  bright  spot  rippled  like  prismed  glass.  That  would 
be  the  river  the  moon  had  caught  leaping  a  rapid. 
Elsewhere  it  flowed  unseen,  and  was  heard  as  a 
monotone  unvarying  and  incessant.  It  was  strange 
to  come  down  upon  soft  ground  again,  to  feel  it 
yield  beneath  his  feet  and  see  leaves  above  his  head. 
He  was  traveling  again  on  broad  earth  down  an 
abrupt  slope,  his  companion  soft  footing  a  pace  in 
advance  and  threading  rapidly  among  the  trees.  The 
sound  of  pouring  water  was  still  like  a  sound  of  the 
distance.  He  had  no  forewarning  of  the  broken 
white  which  glimmered  suddenly  beyond  the  trunks 
of  the  pines.  It  was  a  line  of  boulders  tossed  up  in 
a  low  irregular  wall.  This  might  be  a  branch  from 
the  bed  of  the  greater  stream  that  had  been  sucked 
dry  by  months  of  sun.  Blanche  pressed  between  the 
rocks  or  over  them  warily,  looking  back  to  point  him 
a  secure  foothold  evidently  known  to  her,  tried,  and 
to  be  depended  on.  A  creature  in  flight  for  her  life 
could  have  made  better  use  of  the  minutes.  Coming 

292 


THE    MIDDLE   OF   THE    NIGHT 

over  upon  the  other  side  above  the  channel  he  saw 
below  him  the  thing  he  had  not  expected,  the  smooth 
dark  surface  of  water  gliding  without  a  whisper, 
deep  shrunken  in  its  bed.  At  least  a  foot  of  the 
perpendicular  wall  made  glassy  smooth  by  the  un- 
dercurrent was  bare.  Higher  the  rock  projected,  was 
irregular  and  hollowed  into  shallow  caves.  Above 
these  the  crevices  of  the  boulders  were  swept  full  of 
dry  twigs,  leaves  and  grass,  powdery  and  gray,  and 
full  of  silt.  Edging  along  cautiously,  moving  her 
feet  carefully  as  a  cat,  she  stopped  and  stooped,  and 
gathering  her  skirts,  crept  into  an  opening  in  the 
rock. 

It  was  one  of  those  wave-worn  caves  sometimes 
to  be  found  in  the  walls  of  mountain  rivers,  in 
spring  covered  by  the  water  which  now  ran  some 
four  feet  below.  As  he  followed  her  into  the  black 
hole,  sliding  feet  first,  he  could  feel  its  sides  rough 
and  clean  as  coral;  but  earth  had  been  loosely 
sprinkled  over  its  surface,  and  dry  moss,  pulled  up  by 
the  roots,  was  drawn  about  the  entrance,  and  once 
they  were  both  in  she  pulled  it  up  in  a  heap,  hiding 
half  the  opening,  leaving  room  enough  for  their  eyes 
to  look  out.  The  floor  of  the  cave  was  almost  level, 
so  that  as  they. lay  stretched  upon  it,  they  could  look 
out  to  the  opposite  bank,  or  down  into  the  river.  It 
ran  languidly  in  long  ripples.  Where  they  lifted 

293 


SON   OF   THE  WIND 

the  moon  caught  just  the  edge;  but  a  little  way  up 
stream,  still  in  plain  sight,  the  surface  ruffled  in  sil- 
ver over  gravel,  for  here  the  boulders  stopped  for 
an  interval,  and  a  narrow  spit  of  land  pointed  out 
into  the  stream.  This  went  back  to  an  open  space 
a  glistening  white  patch  in  front  of  the  forest.  One 
dead  pine  stood  up  out  of  it  and  made  a  point  of 
shadow  on  the  bright  ground. 

The  smell  of  water  and  wet  rock  rose  to  his  nos- 
trils. A  sharp  air  hovered  above  the  stream. 

"Are  you  cold?"  Blanche  murmured.  Her  lips 
were  at  his  ear  so  that  the  words  were  not  audible. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"You  are  trembling." 

Carron  was  not  conscious  of  this,  and  did  not  be- 
lieve it.  His  blood  was  aflame  from  heroic  exercise. 
The  air  was  scarcely  cold  enough  for  his  hot  face. 
His  heart  played  like  a  drum  on  his  ribs,  the  pulses 
in  his  wrists  hammered,  he  felt  the  quick  throb  in 
his  temples.  His  breath  came  short.  He  tried  to 
fill  his  lungs.  He  stretched  his  feet  to  get  a  less 
cramped  position,  and  a  stone  slipped  in  the  bottom 
of  the  cave.  He  held  his  breath,  fearful  lest  it  go 
reverberating  in  the  depths,  frightening  silence. 
Blanche  laid  her  hand  warningly  on  his  arm.  Si- 
lence, that  large,  sensitive,  brittle  depth  inclosing 
them,  they  were  both  of  a  mind  to  keep  absolute.  It 

294 


THE    MIDDLE   OF   THE    NIGHT 

was  so  hollow  it  seemed  that  a  stir  would  set  it 
sounding  to  the  far  mountain  tops;  but  everything 
that  was  abroad  in  it  seemed  to  conspire  to  keep  it 
whole.  Not  a  twig  cracked  under  any  stealthy  tread. 
All  creatures  that  were  abroad  must  be  the  'cushion- 
footed — themselves  respecters  of  noiselessness. 
Even  the  eye  could  discover  no  motion.  The  river 
might  have  been  a  snake  stretched  out  asleep,  the 
trees  printed  on  the  sky.  The  only  thing  that  moved 
was  the  shadow  of  the  dead  pine,  and  that  was  like 
the  hand  of  a  clock  too  slow  to  be  perceived  in  mo- 
tion. He  listened  with  distended  senses.  It  seemed 
to  him  he  could  hear  the  movement  of  thoughts  in 
his  own  brain,  the  flowing  of  the  blood  in  his  finger- 
tips; but  outside  of  himself  not  a  sound.  The  air, 
sick  for  vibrations,  was  vibrating  by  its  own  empti- 
ness. Like  a  gong,  it  assailed  the  senses  in  waves, 
at  first  beating  in  upon  them  from  without.  Then, 
as  he  stretched  his  ears  to  hear  above  it,  the  gong 
seemed  to  be  within  his  head  struck  upon  by  his 
furious  pulses,  sending  out  a  prolonged  shrill  ring- 
ing, so  loud  it  seemed  this  sound  in  the  ear  of  imag- 
ination would  have  drowned  a  thunderclap. 

Not  thunder,  but  a  light  faint  noise  at  some  dis- 
tance made  all  the  vibration  cease.  On  the  instant 
silence  was  as  still  as  crystal  to  the  real  sound.  It 
rang  first  as  a  single  dull  blow  struck  like  a  challenge 

295 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

among  the  mountains.  Now  it  multiplied.  It  came 
intermittently,  a  rapid  beating  of  the  same  hard 
muffled  substance  on  the  harder  rock;  now  quiet, 
now  repeated;  faint  at  first,  growing  louder.  Dead 
branches  cracked,  trampled  over.  Spaces  of  earth 
sounded  like  a  drum  beneath  the  tread.  Again, 
among  stones,  the  ringing  was  clear  and  sharp.  To 
those  proud  feet  silence  was  a  thing  to  strike  echoes 
from.  The  sound  of  the  approach  set  the  listeners' 
heart  to  its  measure — rhythmic,  wild,  irregular,  a 
roulade  of  liberty  beaten  out  upon  the  earth.  Car- 
ron  was  shaking  like  a  man  with  a  chill.  His  hands 
were  cold.  His  throat,  dry  and  stiff,  seemed  closing 
against  breath.  He  had  to  clench  his  teeth  to  keep 
them  from  chattering;  but  the  girl  lay  as  still  as 
moonlight,  though  she  looked  as  pale,  and  her  eyes 
were  large  with  expectation  of  delight,  as  if  she  ex- 
pected a  rose  to  blossom  under  her  sight,  or  a  bird 
to  fly  to  her  out  of  heaven. 

A  rapid  trot  sounded  just  within  the  last  fringe  of 
pines,  and  a  shadow  ran  out  from  the  trees  and 
rested,  quivering,  on  the  bright  ground.  There  was 
a  rustle  among  the  pine  branches,  and  the  moon 
shone  on  a  black  forelock  and  pricked  ears.  The 
branches  waved  softly  to  and  fro  as  the  horse  came 
pushing  through.  He  paused  at  the  upper  edge  of 
the  clearing  and  lifted  his  head  high.  He  looked 

296 


THE    MIDDLE   OE   THE   NIGHT 

large,  and  doubly  large  being  alone.  The  state  by 
which  kings  add  to  their  stature  increased  his.  He 
gave  a  slow  trepid  glance  around  the  clearing, 
while  his  wide  nostrils  drank  the  wind.  Over  water 
and  through  moss  and  earth  it  came  purely.  There 
was  no  scent  to  startle  delicate  stretched  nerves.  He 
began  to  advance  down  the  rocky  floor  at  a  gait  a 
little  faster  than  a  walk.  An  undulating  motion 
went  through  the  whole  body  as  if  the  hoofs  trod 
air.  The  mane  waved  with  it,  the  tail  drifted  like 
a  plume.  Carron  could  see  the  quick  ripple  of  mus- 
cles under  the  satin  skin.  That  was  the  back  that 
had  never  felt  weight,  the  neck  like  a  bow  that  had 
never  bent  except  at  its  own  will.  The  white  left 
foot  which  Carron  had  seen  speeding  in  terror  trod 
delicately  as  a  girl's  on  the  rocky  slope.  A  star  on 
the  breast  that  had  shone  at  the  head  of  herds  now 
shone  solitary.  The  eyes  that  had  been  scarlet  with 
fury  were  dark  and  bright  and  bent  on  the  silver 
ripple  of  water  as  toward  the  face  of  a  friend.  He 
seemed  to  condescend  to  earth  with  those  haughty 
graces  with  his  own  shadow,  twisting  his  head  side- 
wise,  trifling  with  its  liberty.  Miles  around  him 
nothing  moved  that  would  not  run  from  him,  noth- 
ing but  eagles,  and  these  floated  free,  and  kept  an 
equal  state. 

At  the  lip  of  the  water  he  paused  once  more,  one 
297 


SON   OF   THE  WIND 

more  haughty  earnest  stare  now  up,  now  down  the 
stream  and  his  nostrils  fluttered  like  black  butter- 
flies. Then,  as  meekly  as  if  all  the  world  were  his 
friend,  he  stooped  his  head,  stretched  out  his  neck, 
shining  while  the  mane  blew  in  a  veil  against  it,  put 
muzzle  in  the  current  and  drank. 


298 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  MAN  IN  SADDLE 

COLOR  of  night  was  draining  out  of  the  sky 
when  the  riders  took  horses  again  at  the  foot 
of  the  Sphinx.  Black  and  white  were  rolled  in  gray, 
shadows  were  melting  thin,  the  moon  had  drifted 
far  down  the  west,  constellations  were  sinking.  All 
the  luster,  all  the  full  pulse  of  midnight  were  flow- 
ing out;  and  the  pulses  of  the  man  too  were  at  ebb. 
His  blood  ran  thin.  The  sky  stood  dim  and  lumin- 
ous at  the  hour  of  neither  moon  nor  sun;  and  his 
mind  stood  between  thought  and  action,  dim, 
dreamy  with  amazement  beyond  piercing.  If  con- 
scious thought  had  turned  upon  itself  it  would  not 
have  known  what  forms  were  taking  shape  in  the 
unconscious  depth.  Memories  shone  upon  the  sur- 
face, disappeared  and  appeared  again — Son  of  the 
Wind  as  he  had  advanced  down  the  slope  toward 
the  water,  sides  of  silk  for  knees  that  dared  to  press 
them,  head  bent  waywardly  sidewise,  at  play  with 
its  own  liberty,  and  the  slow  undulation  of  the  mane. 
Where  had  the  creature  hidden  himself  between 
299 


SON   OK   THE  WIND 

the  fading  hours  ?  Carron  could  not  remember  how 
he  had  looked  at  his  departing.  But  who  remembers 
the  retreat  of  a  king?  It  was  the  advance,  and 
again  the  advance,  that  returned  to  him — the  rou- 
lade of  hoofs  afar  off  in  the  forest,  the  sharp  music 
on  the  rocky  slope,  the  body  breaking  through  the 
trees.  Yet,  he  did  not  see  it  quite  as  it  had  come  in 
fact ;  for  to  the  imagination,  the  back,  that  shining 
hollow  that  had  shivered  at  a  white  moth's  weight, 
was  not  empty.  It  was  bestrode.  Once  the  eye 
had  seen,  the  brain  seized  its  object.  The  man  was 
in  saddle;  and  though  fancy  pictured  Son  of  the 
Wind  in  the  citadel  of  the  canon,  or  speeding 
among  mountains  beyond  possible  human  ways,  the 
persistent  phantom  would  not  be  unseated.  Where 
is  the  use  of  sides  of  silk  without  heel  to  guide,  or 
of  feet  that  can  chant  the  song  of  swiftness  if  no 
purpose  profit  by  their  speed  ? 

Across  the  canon,  where  night  was  complete,  and 
upward,  under  branches,  into  the  high  open  ascents, 
mysterious,  peaceful,  colorless  in  the  beginnings 
of  dawn,  he  came,  his  mind  filled  with  images  of 
contentions  and  conquests.  Near  the  horizon  Venus 
burned  white,  but  the  star  above  his  head  was  Sir- 
ius,  red  and  troubled.  The  woman  beside  him  made 
a  faint  rustling  as  she  moved  through  the  leaves. 
She,  who  had  been  quick,  filled  with  double  energy 

300 


THE   MAN   IN    SADDLE 

of  life,  now  trailed.  Her  face  was  a  ghost's,  her 
eyes  dull  gray  as  the  sky,  and  whenever  he  looked 
at  her  they  were  fixed  upon  him,  expectant,  waiting 
a  word.  He  held  her,  led  her,  but  his  desires  were 
not  toward  her.  They  rushed  forward  like  fire. 
Visions  of  beauty  swept  through  his  mind,  but  it 
was  not  her  beauty.  There  was  no  room  there  for 
anything  but  one  thought.  No  room  for  wonder  at 
the  curious  path  he  had  followed,  nor  at  the  thought 
of  a  man  and  a  woman  abroad  at  such  an  hour;  no 
fear  lest  the  clearing  before  the  house,  or  the  house 
itself  that  received  them,  should  be  aware  of  their 
coming.  They  went  in  by  the  outside  stair.  In  his 
room  objects  were  beginning  to  show  themselves, 
the  bed  broad  and  pale,  the  walls  gray.  Last  night 
they  had  worn  brocade  of  white  and  black.  Look- 
ing at  them  he  had  thought  of  Blanche.  Now  he 
looked  at  her,  and  thought  of  something  else.  He 
took  her  wrists  and  laid  her  hands  against  his  shoul- 
ders. She  leaned  upon  him  exhausted,  looking  up 
with  confident  eyes. 

"How  did  you  find  it  ?"  he  said. 

"I  didn't.  It  was  a  chance.  I  know  the  place. 
I've  always  known  it.  We  camped  there  one  sum- 
mer when  I  was  a  child,  and  then  I  found  the  cave 
and  always  wanted  to  go  back  to  it.  It  was  too  far 
and  too  hard  to  get  there  from  here.  Up  the  canon 

301 


SON   OF   THE  .WIND 

takes  eight  hours.    I  had  to  find  a  shorter  way,  and 
one  day  I  tried  the  Sphinx's  window." 

"One  "day?" 

"Well,  yes — and  afterward  one  night." 

"You  told  me  you  never  had  been  out  so  far  in  the 
middle  of  the  night." 

She  smiled  faintly.  "I  didn't  say  quite  that ;  and 
if  I  did  give  you  that  impression  it  was  just  as  well. 
I  didn't  know  you  then.  It  wouldn't  have  been  good 
to  tell  you  my  ways.  This  country  is  my  garden. 
Sometimes,  at  full  moon  when  I  can't  sleep,  I  am  all 
about  it.  One  of  those  times  I  went  farther  than 
I  ever  had  before  and  saw  what  I  showed  you  to- 
night." 

"Have  you  never  shown  it  to  any  one  else?"  he 
asked. 

Her  eyelids  fluttered.  "No — never.  I  didn't 
mean  to  show  it  to  you;  but  you  are  just  myself.  I 
had  to  show  you  my  possession." 

"Your  possession  ?"  The  way  she  used  that  word 
was  strange. 

"Yes,  he  is  mine.  He's  mine  the  way  my  thoughts 
are.  He  is  the  only  thing  I  have  ever  known  that 
couldn't  be  tied  and  held  by  the  common  things  in 
the  world.  When  he  moves  he  doesn't  seem  to 
touch  earth." 

Carron  looked  at  her  dully. 
302 


THE   MAN    IN    SADDLE 

"There  will  not  be  another  like  him,"  she  said. 
"These  wonderful  things  don't  happen  twice." 

"No,"  he  answered.  This  was  something  he  could 
understand.  It  seemed  to  him  an  oracle  had  spoken. 
He  took  her  to  the  door  of  her  room,  kissed  her  on 
the  forehead  and  left  her.  The  touch  of  her  stirred 
him  with  tenderness,  but  when  he  turned  his  back 
it  was  forgotten.  He  was  not  thinking  of  her. 

The  sun  came  like  an  enemy  and  surprised  him 
sitting  on  the  edge  of  his  bed,  his  head  sunk  in  his 
hands.  He  heard  the  barking  of  a  dog,  the  flight 
of  birds  in  the  trees,  the  sound  of  footsteps,  the 
opening  of  doors.  The  flare  of  yellow  had  wakened 
the  world  into  action.  His  vision  of  last  night  with 
its  incredibility  and  tremendous  reality,  its  silver 
and  black,  was  melting,  and  with  it  all  the  footless 
hopes  and  fancies  that  had  followed  him  home 
through  the  gray  air.  The  power  for  vision  of  fu- 
ture or  past  was  gone,  and  he  found  himself  staring" 
with  concentration  at  a  round  floating  spot  of  light 
upon  the  wall,  while  his  brain  repeated  over  and 
over:  "Why  need  she  know  of  it?  Why  need  she 
know?  Why  need  she  know?" 

He  stared  at  the  significance  of  this,  too  surprised 
to  reflect  whence  those  words  had  sprung,  born  in 
his  own  mind  or  planted  there  by  some  other's 
thought.  They  were  words  any  man  might  speak  of 

303 


SON   OF   THE  iWIND 

any  woman  in  any  affair.  The  idea  was  funda- 
mental. It  streamed  upon  his  mind  like  the  day  into 
his  room.  He  was  confounded  by  the  clarity,  the 
brilliance,  the  wonderful  way  it  banished  cruelty 
and  made  everything  right.  All  he  had  to  do  was 
to  surround  himself  with  silence.  He  had  no  doubt 
of  his  motive.  The  thing  sprang  bold  before  him, 
something  he  believed  in  and  had  many  times  put 
to  proof,  the  natural  hardy  motive  of  his  life.  To 
break,  to  tame,  to  change  the  compound  of  fury  and 
timidity  into  the  docile  and  controlled,  useful  to  the 
controller,  sent  out  among  civilized  things. 

But  Carron  did  not  follow  his  creations  thither. 
He  belonged  neither  among  wild  nor  tame.  He  stood 
at  the  point  of  transition,  where  the  herds  of  the 
primitive  passed  through  his  hands  into  civilization. 
He  stood  between  the  two,  to  break,  always  to  break. 
That  was  his  affair  in  the  world.  But  this  instance 
was  raised  above  his  common  experience  of  the 
world,  his  work  still — but  it  transcended  itself,  as 
the  horse  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  now  transcended 
his  kind.  For  the  creature  was  so  far  above  his  fel- 
lows ;  as  Blanche  had  said,  he  seemed  to  travel  upon 
wings,  a  little  above  the  earth.  So  Carron's  hopes. 
They  were  proud.  He  would  have  published  them 
with  trumpets  had  it  not  been  for  the  one  curious 
reason.  That  made  the  silence.  It  was  not  on  his 

304 


THE   MAN    IN    SADDLE 

account,  but  on  hers.  It  was  on  her  account,  be- 
cause of  that  strange  idea  she  had,  that  woman  idea, 
which  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  activities  of  men, 
that  must  be  set  aside  very  carefully  so  as  not  to  be 
hurt,  and  not  to  interfere.  Therefore  silence,  abso- 
lute, impenetrable!  No  action,  no  word,  no  glance 
to  give  any  hint  to  her  of  what  was  going  forward. 

And,  since  no  hint  to  her  on  his  life,  no  hint  to  any 
other!  That  would  be  treachery.  But  with  silence 
treachery  vanished.  Silence  is  darkness.  To  the 
eye  that  sees  no  color  there  is  none ;  and  to  the  mind 
that  does  not  know  of  an  action,  that  action  does  not 
exist.  And  the  action  itself  would  rob  her  of  noth- 
ing. For  what  was  it  Rader  had  said  ?  The  horse 
was  only  an  idea  to  her.  She  would  not  lay  fingers 
on  the  actual  creature.  She  must  know  that  some 
day  she  would  cease  to  find  it,  and  be  left  with  her 
idea  and  her  dream. 

What  a  fool  he  was  sitting  here  in  the  sodden  gar- 
ments of  yesterday  while  the  hours  of  to-day  ran 
past  him.  High  impossibilities  lay  between  him  and 
his  object,  but  nothing  looked  too  high  for  him  now. 
Only  a  mountain  to  overleap,  and  then  to  mount  the 
back  of  the  wind.  Reason  might  cry,  "No  man  has 
ever  ridden  the  wind,"  but  a  man's  will  would  an- 
swer, "Time  then  for  some  one  to  be  about  it."  He 
was  ready  to  begin,  even  though  he  could  not  see  an 

305 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

inch  of  his  way  before  him.  Yet,  as  soon  as  he 
looked  in  the  prosaic  morning  light  he  saw  the  first 
step  to  take. 

He  rose  and  searched  among  his  clothes  that  were 
flung  pell-mell  in  the  valise,  and  brought  out  the 
message  he  had  written  to  Esmeralda  Charley  a  day 
or  two  before.  He  looked  back  at  that  point  in  past 
time  as  though  over  a  distance  of  years.  What  had 
he  meant  with  such  words?  An  age  of  passions  and 
events  had  rolled  over  him  since.  He  put  a  match 
to  the  paper  and  threw  it  in  the  grate;  then  made 
haste  to  write  out  another  message  very  plainly. 

Unwashed,  unshaven,  with  last  night's  dust  and 
clay  still  upon  him,  he  came  out  of  the  house  into 
the  cool,  yellow  light.  The  dawn  looked  fresh,  un- 
disturbed by  the  overcrowded  events  that  were 
threatening  the  day.  He  made  the  descent  of  the 
hill  at  a  good  pace,  and  hailed  the  stage,  as,  plunging 
on  its  springs,  sending  up  dust  above  the  tree-tops, 
it  came  up  from  the  dip  of  the  creek  bed.  He 
mounted  nimbly  on  the  wheel,  and  inquired  whether 
the  driver  would  have  time  at  the  end  of  his  journey 
(to  do  a  kindness  for  a  stranger. 

The  autocrat  on  the  high  seat,  looking  the  young 
man  over,  inquired  what  it  might  be. 

It  appeared  to  be  this :  to  take  a  message  to  a  half- 
breed,  by  name  Esmeralda  Charley.  This  Indian 

306 


THE   MAN   IN   SADDLE 

had  enters  to  meet  every  stage  that  came  in,  and  he 
obeyed  orders.  But  the  fellow  couldn't  read;  and 
if  the  driver  would  be  so  good  as  not  only  to  deliver 
the  paper,  but  to  read  it  to  the  man,  Carron  would 
remain  his  debtor  for  life. 

The  driver,  opening  the  paper  then  and  there, 
read  the  message  aloud  to  the  tree-tops. 

"Take  the  stuff  out  of  storage,  and  bring  it  with 
the  horses  over  the  watershed,  past  the  first  fork  of 
the  road,  and  through  the  gap  into  the  next  canon. 
I  will  be  waiting  on  the  road.  Be  there  by  eleven. 

"CARRON." 

The  driver  cocked  his  eye  at  the  name.  "F.  A. 
Carron?  Rancho  Caballo?" 

Carron  admitted  it. 

The  man  extended  his  hand.  "Put  it  there." 
When  the  ceremony  was  over — "See  that  off 
leader?"  he  inquired.  "Best  horse  I  ever  had. 
Mouth  ain't  spoiled  nor  his  temper.  Busted  on  the 
Rancho  Caballo." 

Carron  expressed  himself  as  gratified,  and  was  in 
fact.  Cigars  passed  into  the  driver's  hand.  The 
horse-breaker  dropped  from  the  wheel,  confident  of 
his  message  being  safely  taken.  What  he  touched 
was  shaped  to  his  way.  He  was  no  poet  to  imagine 
fate  in  this.  He  saw  that  it  came  from  his  own 

307 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

power.  But  with  this  business  despatched,  and  the 
next  problem  rising  to  the  front  of  his  mind,  he  felt 
a  chill  upon  the  warmth  of  his  satisfaction. 

He  had  not  foreseen  the  moves  in  his  game.  This 
one  sprang  upon  him  as  the  other  receded.  He 
stared  at  it,  incredulous  to  find  anything  so  at  odds 
with  all  his  determinations,  yet  so  immovably  insist- 
ing on  being  a  part  of  his  scheme.  There  was  no 
going  forward  without  it.  It  was  necessary,  if  he 
were  to  get  the  thing  he  wanted;  but  what  was  to 
become  of  his  perfect  and  justifying  theory  of  si- 
lence? It  would  not  be  destroyed.  It  would  be 
workable  still,  and  safe  enough  no  doubt,  but  it 
would  become  a  makeshift  thing — to  be  passed  over 
hastily,  and  not  too  closely  scrutinized. 

He  tossed  the  question  in  his  mind  as  he  hurried 
up  the  road  where  the  dust  the  wheels  of  the  stage 
had  stirred  hovered  in  a  thin  fog.  Time  and  neces- 
sity were  at  his  heels ;  he  realized  he  was  going  to  ac- 
cept the  exigencies  of  his  position — but  he  cursed 
fate,  that  put  such  ugly  deviations  upon  the  path  of 
clear  enterprise;  he  cursed  Ferrier  for  being  such 
as  he  was,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  for  the 
instant,  had  an  ugly  glimpse  of  himself.  Reluctantly 
he  turned  down  the  steep  and  weedy  way  that  led  to 
the  clearing,  and  knocked  at  Ferrier's  door.  He 

308 


THE   MAN   IN    SADDLE 

waited,  and  in  the  pause  had  a  memory  of  how  last 
night  Blanche  had  told  him  Ferrier  was  not  there. 
Suppose  he  had  not  returned  yet.  It  was  still  so  early 
in  the  morning.  Suppose  he  did  not  return  all  day 
— how  was  a  man  to  find  him — and  where  ?  Reluc- 
tance vanished.  Ferrier  became  the  person  in  all  the 
world  Carron  most  desired  to  see.  He  knocked 
again,  loud  and  imperative.  A  voice  within  the 
house  called  aloud.  The  sound  was  formless,  but  he 
thought  it  was  a  summons. 

He  entered  on  a  long  darkish  room,  disorderly  and 
as  cluttered  with  incongruous  stuff  as  Ferrier's  mind. 
Clothes  were  strewn  on  the  floor ;  old  saddles  rested 
on  chairs ;  crockery,  cartridges  and  food  on  the  table, 
dogs  lying  under  it ;  no  windows  open,  a  stale  air  in 
the  place.  Close  under  a  window  on  a  bench,  the 
boy  George  had  a  gun  and  a  greased  rag  in  his  hand. 
His  shoulders  were  gathered  into  such  a  lump  that 
he  looked  deformed.  He  had  stopped  his  work  of 
polishing  and  sat  looking  at  the  intruder  with  pale 
eyes,  the  lids  of  which  were  fixed. 

''Where  is  your  brother?"  Carron  asked. 

Without  seeming  to  hear  what  had  been  said, 
without  moving,  the  boy  opened  his  mouth  and 
emitted  the  sound  that  Carron  had  mistaken  for  a 
summons  to  himself.  Evidently  it  had  been  meant  to 

309 


SON   OE  THE  WIND 

call  another  person,  for  now  an  inner  door  opened 
quickly  and  a  man  half  dressed  appeared  at  the 
aperture. 

Seeing  Carron  his  face  flushed.  "Just  a  minute," 
he  muttered,  backing  quickly  from  the  door,  and 
would  have  had  it  shut  but  Carron's  foot  was  already 
in  the  opening. 

"Just  a  minute,"  he  said,  unconsciously  repeating 
Ferrier's  words,  though  with  quite  another  mean- 
ing. Booted  and  belted,  he  felt  his  advantage,  moral 
and  imaginative,  over  this  fellow  who  was  scantily 
clad  and  had  bare  feet.  It  would  be  good  not  to  give 
him  time  to  clothe  himself  or  arm  his  mind.  Carron 
pressed  through  into  the  room  beyond  as  Ferrier  re- 
treated, pitifully  embarrassed,  and  by  his  glances  be- 
hind him  and  around  him  a  little  apprehensive. 

"Sorry  to  be  so  hasty,  but  I  can't  wait,"  the  horse- 
breaker  said.  "I  had  to  see  you  immediately.  I  am 
going  up  into  the  mountains  to-day  and  I  shall  need 
your  help.  Get  ready  to  meet  me  in  a  couple  of 
hours." 

Ferrier  gulped.     "I  don't  think — "  he  began. 

"I've  got  the  grub,"  Carron  went  on,  as  though  he 
had  not  heard  the  protestation.  "You  won't  need 
anything  but  a  blanket  and  a  sweater.  Take  am- 
munition if  you  want  it — you  won't  need  it,  though. 
I'll  only  want  you  for  a  couple  of  days." 

310 


THE   MAN    IN    SADDLE 

"But  I'm  not  going,  I  tell  you !"  Ferrier  burst  out 
as  if  the  idea  that  he  was  not,  made  him  furious. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Carron  demanded.  "I'm 
only  accepting  a  proposition  you  made  yourself  yes- 
terday !  Have  you  forgotten  it  ?" 

"No,"  Ferrier  said  doggedly.  He  stooped  so  that 
his  face  was  hidden,  and  began  to  fumble  nervously 
for  his  shoes.  "But  I  can't  do  it." 

"Why?" 

"I'm  afraid." 

"Of  what?" 

Ferrier  gave  him  a  darting  upward  glance. 

"Of  what  ?"  Carron  insisted.  "You  weren't  afraid 
of  anything  yesterday.  Has  there  been  any  change 
in  the  situation  since?" 

"No — no,  no!"  Ferrier  cried  vehemently.  He 
looked  frightened. 

"Well,  I  didn't  suppose  there  had  been,"  Carron 
said  coolly,  "and  in  that  case  you're  going  to  stick  to 
your  bargain.  Come,"  he  added  more  kindly,  as 
Ferrier  continued  to  fix  him  with  his  panicky  eyes, 
"I'm  not  asking  much  of  you,  only  that  you  show  me 
the  trail,  and  perhaps  a  few  hours'  work  when  we  get 
to  the  end  of  it.  You  needn't  see  the  game  we're 
after."  He  paused,  and  considered  his  hesitating 
opponent.  "And  there's  one  part  of  your  bargain 
we  are  not  going  to  stick  to.  We  are  going  to  revert 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

to  mine.  I  mean  that  one  hundred  dollars  I  promised 
you  if  you  would  take  me  to  the  place.  You  will  get 
that,  of  course." 

Ferrier,  kneeling,  holding  one  boot,  stared  before 
him  and  breathed  hard  through  open  lips.  It  was 
strange  to  see  him  there,  struggling  to  face  the  idea 
of  possible  consequences,  calculating  value,  weighing 
the  chance  of  what  he  might  lose  against  what  he 
might  gain,  when,  as  the  horse-breaker  knew 
shrewdly  enough,  as  far  as  this  man  was  concerned 
there  were  no  chances  left.  What  Ferrier  was  afraid 
to  lose  he  had  already  lost,  days  ago,  when  for 
twenty  dollars  he  had  told  Carron  the  way  to  Ra- 
ders'.  Yet  he  was  too  stupid  to  realize  the  truth. 
He  was  wavering  as  if  he  still  held  fate  in  his  own 
hands. 

"If  they  should  find  out  I  went — "  Ferrier  began 
at  last. 

"How  could  they?" 

"By  going  out  there." 

"They  won't."  He  stuck  religiously  to  that  in- 
definite plural — as  though  it  could  deceive  either  of 
them. 

"But  if  they  should  hear?" 

Carron  aimed  each  word  slowly  and  distinctly  at 
the  miserable  man  in  front  of  him.  "How  are  they 
going  to  hear  if  I  don't  tell  them?" 

312 


THE   MAN    IN    SADDLE 

Ferrier's  face  grew  perceptibly  paler.  His  mouth 
opened  a  little  into  a  round  shape,  remained  speech- 
less as  if  the  words  it  was  formed  for  had  been 
iblown  away. 

"And  I  am  not  going  to  tell  them,"  the  horse- 
breaker  concluded  emphatically.  There  was  a  ring 
of  magnanimity  in  these  words  that  he  did  not  quite 
like ;  it  sounded  as  if  only  Ferrier  was  to  benefit  by 
this  silence.  Yet  after  all  wasn't  that  the  best  thing 
for  the  fellow  to  think?  Let  him  think  what  he 
would.  He  was  not  to  be  explained  to  in  this  matter 
any  more  than  he  was  to  be  lied  to.  He  was  to  be 
commanded.  He  looked  now  scarcely  so  much  re- 
assured by  Carron's  words  as  carried  off  his  feet  by 
a  stronger  will. 

He  moistened  his  lips.  "And  afterward  you  will 
go?" 

"Yes." 

"Right  afterward?" 

"Yes,"  Carron  repeated  impatiently,  and  with  the 
repetition  hated  himself  more  for  stooping  to  de- 
ceive such  a  poor  creature.  It  was  no  lie  in  the  let- 
ter, and  was  the  worse  for  that ;  for  the  meaning  the 
promise  had,  in  fact,  was  very  different  from  the 
meaning  it  had  for  Ferrier.  A  look  of  relief  spread 
over  his  face. 

"All  right,"  he  said.    "I'll  be  there." 


SON   OF   THE 

"If  you're  not — n  Carron  stood  a  moment  and 
looked  the  poor  soul  through.  "He's  more  afraid 
of  me  than  he  is  of  himself,"  he  thought.  "Very 
good,"  he  said  aloud,  and  turned  about  "And 
where  is  this  place  that  I  am  to  find  you?" 

Ferrier  pulled  on  his  other  boot  and  got  upon  his 
feet.  "I  can  show  you  from  the  other  room,"  he 
said,  and  led  the  way. 

In  his  excitement  he  seemed  to  be  oblivious  of  the 
squalid  surroundings  he  had  blushed  for,  his  own 
half-clad  condition,  and  even  the  presence  of  the  boy 
George.  He  walked  to  the  window  and  shoved  him 
aside  as  if  he  had  been  inanimate  stuff  to  make  room 
for  Carron.  The  horse-breaker  touched  his  compan- 
ion's arm.  "You  had  better  send  him  out,  hadn't 
you?" 

Ferrier  threw  a  hasty  glance  at  the  child  who  sat, 
as  he  had  been  pushed,  a  little  farther  along  on  the 
bench.  "Lord,  no!  he  never  understands  anything, 
we  might  talk  all  day.  Look  down  there,"  he  broke 
off,  pointing  through  the  dirty  glass,  "down  there 
by  the  edge  of  the  pines  where  you  see  that  one  that 
is  taller  than  the  others.  That  is  the  place  where  the 
trail  begins.  That's  where  I'll  be." 

"But,"  Carron  began  quickly,  astonished,  and  for- 
getting everything  but  astonishment,  "on  that  trail 
you  can't  get  a  horse  through." 

3M 


THE   MAN   IN    SADDLE 

?- 

"Thought  you  didn't  know  about  it,"  Ferrier  said, 

turning. 

Without  a  quiver  Carron  caught  up  his  mistake 
and  made  capital  of  it.  "I  know  what  I  see  from 
here,"  he  said  coldly,  "and  it  looks  to  me  very  much 
as  if  your  trail  ran  into  those  hills.  It  does,  doesn't 
it,  eh?"  He  pointed.  "Over  there?" 

Ferrier  corrected,  "No,  over  there."  With  out- 
stretched arm  he  indicated  the  place  farther  along, 
just  out  of  their  sight,  where  the  Sphinx  stood. 

"Here  or  there,"  the  horse-breaker  insisted,  "I've 
seen  something  of  such  hills  and  I'll  be  willing  to  bet 
we  can't  get  horses  through." 

Ferrier  looked  sullen.  "I'd  forgotten  you  had  to 
have  them.  I  suppose,  then,  we'll  have  to  go  the 
long  way." 

Carron  was  relieved.  He  hadn't  been  certain  Fer- 
rier knew  the  long  way.  Blanche  had  mentioned  it 
so  casually.  She  had  not  said  that  he  knew.  Carron 
had  only  inferred  and  snatched  at  the  inference. 
Now  he  was  at  the  end  of  his  doubts.  He  made 
short  work  of  the  tale.  He  had  it  all  in  a  few  mo- 
ments, the  place  where  they  were  to  meet  and  the 
hour.  He  reckoned  that,  allowing  time  for  packing 
the  canvas,  the  half-breed  would  get  in  with  the  led 
horses  in  three  hours.  That  would  make  their  meet- 
ing at  eleven,  say.  It  was  now  past  eight  o'clock. 


SON    OF.   THE   WIND 

He  left  the  house,  and  plunged  into  fresh  air  as 
into  a  bath.  The  excursion  he  had  had  to  make  from 
his  high  resolves  of  silence  was  over.  It  had  been 
more  unpleasant  than  he  had  expected.  And  at  the 
end,  in  spite  of  his  care,  he  had  not  quite  succeeded 
in  keeping  Ferrier  under  heel.  The  man  had  made 
conditions  with  him.  But  now  at  last  the  unfor- 
tunate incident  was  behind  him.  The  lie  straight  out 
to  the  Raders  would  not  be  hard.  It  was  a  part  of 
his  robust  scheme.  It  was  in  the  cause  of  silence — 
that  good  and  decent  cause — that  he  intended  to 
speak,  giving  the  women  sound  invented  reasons  for 
not  coming  back  to-night,  or  even  the  next  night,  as 
a  man  must  sometimes  give  to  his  own  people.  Cer- 
tainly that  was  what  these  people  were  to  him ;  and 
with  them  also  he  wanted  to  square  certain  other 
matters,  to  have  them  out  as  clear  as  he  kept  the 
other  dark,  before  he  went. 

Had  Mrs.  Rader  wanted  to  abet  his  project  she 
could  not  have  done  better  for  him  than  give  him  the 
room  with  the  outside  stair.  On  this  occasion  it  en- 
abled him  to  enter  the  Raders'  unseen,  bathe, 
change,  and  appear  down-stairs  looking  as  debonair 
as  if  he  had  passed  the  night  in  dreams.  After  a 
little  searching  he  found  Blanche  with  her  father  in 
the  study.  Rader,  his  long  chin  in  his  hand,  scarcely 
looked  at  him.  Carron  thought  that,  since  their  talk 

316 


THE   MAN    IN    SADDLE 

of  the  night  before,  perhaps  the  scholar  had  given 
him  up,  a  hopeless  case ;  or  it  might  be  only  that  he 
was  surrounded  as  he  was  usually  in  the  morning, 
with  his  habitual  mist  of  thoughts.  But  Blanche 
raised  great,  prompt  eyes  from  her  business  of  copy- 
ing, and  gave  him  a  look  difficult  to  interpret — love, 
envy  of  his  gay  morning  looks,  and  the  intent,  insin- 
uative  gaze  of  one  who  would  recall  to  another  a  se- 
cret, remind  him  of  some  wonderful  thing  both 
knew,  and  no  one  else  in  the  world.  How  at  that 
look,  last  night's  adventure  returned  to  him  like  a 
ghost  rising  in  broad  daylight — the  race  with  the 
moon,  the  ascent  of  the  Sphinx.  Footsteps  on  the 
edge  of  death !  He  was  appalled  at  the  risks  he  had 
let  her  take.  He  must  have  been  insane  last  night ! 
And  when  she  was  alone,  think  of  it !  It  was  good 
all  this  was  to  end. 

Sitting  on  the  table,  between  father  and  daughter, 
Carron  explained  himself.  He  was  off,  he  said,  for 
his  last  two  days  of  hunting.  He  expected  to  be  back 
day  after  to-morrow  night.  He  wondered  if  the 
scholar  would  suspect  anything  from  this — but  Ra- 
der's  eyes  which  seemed  fixed  upon  him  were  prob- 
ably fixed  on  some  theory  a  hundred  miles  beyond 
him. 

He  wondered  if  Blanche  would  think  his  de- 
parture strange,  coming  so  quickly  on  the  heels  of 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

last  night's  revelation.  He  wondered  if  she  would 
expect  him  to  stay,  to  talk  over  with  her  what  had 
happened,  to  hear  more  from  her  about  it.  This  he 
'did  not  want,  even  if  the  time  had  been  his.  He  gave 
her  a  glance  as  he  got  off  the  table,  but  her  answering 
look  said,  "I  didn't  need  that.  Fm  coming  anyway." 

She  followed  him  out  into  the  hall.  No  sooner 
was  the  door  shut  upon  them  than  she  clasped 
him  around  the  neck.  "Don't  go,  don't  go !  I  am  so 
afraid  something  dreadful  will  happen  to  you." 

This  gave  him  an  unpleasant  start.  What  was  she 
talking  about,  he  wondered. 

"Last  time  you  came  back  with  your  head  hurt," 
she  said  in  a  trembling  voice.  "I'm  so  afraid." 

He  laughed,  relieved.  "Not  a  bit  of  danger.  That 
was  sheer  clumsiness."  Yet  somehow  her  caresses, 
and  her  fears  for  him  did  not  flatter  him.  He  felt 
uneasy  in  their  enfolding.  He  had  not  called  her  out 
here  for  any  lovers'  scene.  He  had  a  desire  to  keep 
to  business.  "I'm  only  going  to  get  a  peace  offering 
of  venison,  for  your  mother,"  he  said.  "Tell  me, 
what  did  she  say  when  you  told  her  about  us,  eh  ?" 

Blanche  leaned  coaxingly  toward  him,  tilting  her 
head  sidewise  until  the  brown  crown  of  it  came 
caressingly  against  his  ear.  It  was  a  way  she  had  of 
luring  him  out  of  seriousness,  and  beguiling  him,  but 
in  this  case  it  didn't  do. 


THE   MAN    IN    SADDLE 

He  took  her  by  the  shoulders  and  held  her  off' 
from  him.  "Didn't  you  tell  her?" 

She  drooped  guiltily.  "Don't  be  angry.  I  was 
going  to,  but  then  I  thought  about  last  night — of 
showing  you  what  I  did,  and  I  couldn't  seem  to  think 
about  anything  else.  I  thought  I  would  tell  her  to- 
day instead." 

He  found  himself  a  little  jerked  back  in  the  ease 
of  his  arrangements.  .  He  had  expected  to  find  this 
matter  settled.  "Then  go  and  tell  her  on  the  spot, 
and  ask  if  I  may  see  her  before  I  go.  Never  mind  if 
you  don't  feel  like  it,"  he  added,  as  the  girl  hesitated. 
"We  ought  to  get  this  thing  straightened  out." 

"It  isn't  that,"  Blanche  explained,  "but  I  am 
afraid  I  can't,  not  now.  She  isn't  up,  you  see,  at 
least  she  isn't  out  of  her  room.  She  has  a  bad  head- 
ache." 

"Can't  you  speak  to  her  just  the  same?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't.  Her  door  is  locked,  and  she 
says  she  mustn't  be  disturbed.  I  knocked  a  little 
while  ago,  but  she  doesn't  answer.  I  think  she  is 
asleep." 

Carron  bit  his  lip.  He  was  afraid  to  press  the 
point  too  hard  lest  the  girl  suspect  something  in  the 
wind;  and  yet  to  have  to  leave  everything  in  this 
doubtful  mess !  He  had  meant  to  have  his  relation 
to  Blanche  well  understood  before  he  went.  That 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

in  case  Ferrier  should  see  fit  to  talk  while  he  was 
away.  And  then  suppose  anything  should  happen 
to  himself.  He  knew  of  course  nothing  ever  did,  but 
a  man  had  to  consider  it. 

"What  is  the  matter?  Is  something  wrong?" 
Blanche's  voice  was  anxious.  Evidently  she  was  un- 
suspicious of  anything  threatening  her  mother's 
peace  of  mind,  and  it  was  as  well  that  she  should  be. 
It  would  be  better  to  keep  her  quiet,  yes,  as  quiet  as 
possible,  where  Ferrier  was  concerned. 

"Nothing  is  wrong,  but  suppose  your  mother  had 
heard  of  this  from  some  one  before  she  heard  it  from 
you.  It  would  have  hurt  her."  He  was  righteous 
and  austere,  and  Blanche  was  impressed.  "As  soon 
as  you  can,  tell  her  about  it,"  he  said.  He  understood 
from  her  humility  that  this  time  she  would,  without 
any  doubt.  He  was  beginning  to  get  control  of  the 
situation,  to  gather  it  together  under  him,  tightening 
all  the  reins  in  his  hands.  "And  there  is  something 
else  I  want  you  to  promise  me.  You  won't  like  it, 
but  I  want  you  to  do  it." 

They  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  passage  to  the 
little  hall  of  many  doors  and  the  single  stair. 

"Yes?"  she  stood  looking  up  at  him  questioningly, 
languidly.  Blue  shadows  were  beneath  her  eyes. 
The  cheek  below  the  temple  looked  hollow.  Poor 
child !  It  showed  him  eloquently  how  right  he  was. 

320 


THE    MAN    IN    SADDLE 

This  business  of  a  Son  of  the  Wind  was  no  busi- 
ness for  a  woman.  She  ought  never  to  have  been  in 
it,  or  known  anything  about  it.  What  he  was  about 
to  do  appeared  magnanimous  to  him. 

"About  what  we  saw  last  night,"  he  said;  "don't 
go  any  more." 

She  fixed  him  with  such  forlorn  and  dreary 
amazement  that  he  forgot  his  scrupulous  feeling  for 
not  touching  her,  and  took  her  face  between  his 
hands.  "It  was  beautiful,  but  it  is  too  much  for  you, 
it  is  too  far  away.  You  are  worn  out.  You  look  like 
a  ghost." 

"But  I  am  always  like  this  afterward." 

"So  much  the  worse !  Besides,  the  journey  is  too 
dangerous.  It  is  awful  for  you,  and  awful  to  think 
of  you  alone  in  the  middle  of  the  night !" 

"But  I  have  always — " 

"Promise  me !" 

"Then  I  shall  never  see  him  again!"  She  stood, 
an  intense  and  tragic  little  figure.  The  spectacle  of 
her  suffering  made  him  ache,  but  the  feeling  in  it  he 
knew  was  absurd. 

"Remember,"  he  prompted,  "you  are  certain  to 
lose  him  soon.  With  the  first  rains  he  will  be  gone." 
He  bent  her  head  back  until  it  rested  upon  his  shoul- 
der and  he  looked  directly  down  upon  her  sullen  lids. 
"Why  not  have  the  night  we  saw  him  together  the 

321 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

last  night  ?"  With  his  instinct  for  managing  unrea- 
sonable creatures  he  had  hit  upon  the  right  argu- 
ment. He  could  see  it  working  upon  her.  Then  he 
added  the  last  touch.  "And  next  week  you  will  be 
gone." 

That  brought  up  her  eyes  as  if  they  saw  the  future 
in  one  wide  flash,  an  unknown  landscape  stretched 
out  before  her  and  beneath  her,  into  which  she  must 
descend,  through  which  she  must  travel.  She  shiv- 
ered. He  felt  her  relax.  Her  weight  rested  upon 
him.  The  color  between  her  lashes  was  wet  blue, 
and  reflected  him — a  little  purer  in  line,  and  finer 
than  he  was  in  fact,  still  himself.  Her  promise  was 
not  made  in  words,  but  he  understood  her  well 
enough  not  to  exact  that.  It  was  a  curious  thing, 
beautiful  and  rather  awesome,  to  have  a  creature 
whose  unspoken  thought  was  a  sworn  oath.  It  was 
more  than  most  men  could  circle  with  two  arms.  He 
thought  this  as  he  held  her. 

She  raised  her  hands,  resting  them  on  his  shoul- 
ders, and  smiled  at  him.  "I'm  glad  we  did  see  him 
together,  though.  Remember  the  white  moth — how 
he  hated  it,  even  that  weight  ?" 

Carron  did  not  know  why  such  a  simple  sentence 
should  make  him  uncomfortable.  He  took  her  hands 
from  his  shoulders.  "My  dear,"  he  said,  "you  are 
far  too  good !" 

322 


THE   MAN    IN    SADDLE 

She  looked  as  indignant  as  if  he  had  accused  her 
of  a  sin.  "I'm  not !"  she  said  vehemently. 

"I  mean  to  me,"  he  explained,  amused  in  spite  of 
himself.  "It's  your  one  amiable  weakness,  and  it's 
made  me  late.  I've  got  to  hurry." 

Something  he  had  said  seemed  to  have  embar- 
rassed her.  She  was  a  study  of  indecision;  looked 
down,  looked  sidelong,  opened  her  lips  to  speak, 
swallowed  her  breath. 

"I  will  see  you  in  three  days,"  he  said.  "Back 
Thursday  morning."  He  had  taken  the  first  steps  of 
the  stair,  when  she  called  his  name. 

The  sharp  and  quavering  sound  made  him  turn 
quickly.  She  ran  to  the  foot  of  the  stair  as  if  she 
was  afraid  he  might  dash  away  from  her. 

"There  is  something  I  must  tell  you,"  she  began 
hastily.  "Last  night  I  said  something  that  was  not 
true.  I  didn't  mean  to — I  didn't  think!  I  thought 
afterward !  I  told  you  that  no  one  but  you  had  seen 
the  horse,  but  Bert  Ferrier  has  seen  it." 

This  was  scarcely  news  to  Carron.  He  had  heard 
this  fact  so  long  ago  that  he  had  come  to  take  it  for 
granted,  but  she  was  tremulous  with  compunction. 
Conscience  sat  in  her  eyes.  She  took  hold  of  him  as 
if  she  was  afraid  he  might  break  away  from  her  in 
rage.  "I  couldn't  help  it,"  she  protested.  "The 
trail,  you  see,  goes  past  his  house.  I  was  very  care- 

323 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

ful,  but  one  night  he  saw  me.  I  didn't  know  it.  He 
followed  me." 

"Yes,  yes,  yes,"  Carron  said  hastily.  His  atten- 
tion was  all  awake.  "And  now  something  has  hap- 
pened that  makes  it  necessary  for  you  to  tell  me?" 

She  nodded.  "Yes.  When  you  were  talking  about 
my  not  telling  mother,  that  I  shouldn't  have  put  it 
off,  and  all  that,  it  came  to  me  that  I  was  putting  off 
telling  you  this  in  the  same  way ;  and  then,  when  you 
said  I  was  too  good,  I  couldn't  bear  it!  But  you 
went  away  so  fast !"  She  panted.  "So  I  ran  after 
you." 

Carron  felt  mystified.    "Well,  what  is  it  ?" 

She  looked  puzzled.    "Why,  that  is  it." 

He  laughed.  "My  dear  child,  what  difference 
does  it  make  so  long  as  it  doesn't  affect  our — "  he 
had  almost  said  "my" — "affairs  ?" 

"Oh,  but,"  she  opened  large  eyes  at  him,  "you 
must  know  everything  about  me.  You  ought,  be- 
cause we  are  so  close,  you  see.  Everything  should  be 
said  between  us." 

"For  fear  sometime  I  might  hear,  and  be  angry, 
eh?" 

"No.  Even  if  you  never  should,  even  though  I 
knew  you  never  could!  All  the  more  because  of 
that.  It  would  be  dreadful  for  me  to  keep  things 
from  you  because  I  knew  you  would  never  find  out." 

324 


THE   MAN    IN    SADDLE 

He  pushed  a  distressed  hand  across  his  forehead. 
*'Yes,  yes,  I  see !"  but  he  didn't  in  the  least.  He  only 
felt  as  if  a  weight  were  upon  him,  that  could  not  de- 
tain him  from  going  in  the  direction  he  wanted,  but 
could  make  the  going  hard  work.  What  a  heavy 
necklace  a  woman  could  be  when  a  man  was  strain- 
ing after  something  else ! 

"And  there  is  another  thing,"  she  continued,  "that 
may  really  make  a  difference  in  our  affairs.  I  don't 
know  what  you  will  think  about  it,  but  you  see  when 
he  followed  me — " 

She  had  come  to  a  full  stop,  and  again  fear  rose 
in  him.  "Well,  when  he  followed  you  ?" 

"I  didn't  see  him  until  \ve  were  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Sphinx,  almost  at  the  cave;  and  I  couldn't 
make  him  go  back.  I  didn't  dare  spend  time  to  try 
even,  for  fear  it  might  come  and  be  frightened  away 
for  ever.  So  he  came  into  the  cave.  And  afterward 
he  wouldn't  promise  not  to  tell.  It  wasn't  that  he 
wanted  the  horse,"  she  continued  hurriedly,  "but  be- 
cause he  wanted — "  again  she  stopped,  beginning 
afresh.  "I  was  so  excited  and  so  afraid  I  told  him 
if  he  would  hold  his  tongue  I  would  do  anything  that 
he  wanted.  That  was  what  he  wanted,  you  see.  He 
asked  me  to  marry  him  then." 

Carron's  eyebrows  rose,  his  lips  fell  a  little  apart. 
This  was  an  unexpected  joker  in  the  pack.  He  didn't 

325 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

know  what  it  meant.  She  stood  there,  nervously 
clasping  and  unclasping  her  hands  in  front  of  her. 
"Did  you  say  you  would  ?"  His  voice  sounded  with 
such  a  short  note  that  she  looked  frightened. 

"No — I  didn't;  but  I  couldn't  say  I  would  not, 
either,  you  see.  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  It  wasn't 
fair!  He  knew  I  didn't  mean  I  would  do  such  a 
thing  as  that.  But  he  believes  I  will  now,  after  what 
I  promised.  He  believes  he  can  make  me."  She  held 
her  hands  locked,  and  looked  at  him  beseechingly, 
"I  don't  think  he  can  hold  me  to  it — do  you?" 

Carron  began  to  shake  with  laughter.  "No,  my 
dear — never!  You  can  be  sure  he  won't  even  try." 
He  seized  her,  and,  in  an  access  of  wild  spirits, 
whirled  her.  "Don't  be  troubled  by  that  for  a  mo- 
ment. I'll  look  after  him!"  The  sight  of  her  per- 
plexed face  struggling  with  a  smile,  because  she  saw, 
since  he  laughed,  something  must  be  amusing,  sent 
him  off  again.  He  would  have  liked  to  wring  the 
wretched  Ferrier's  neck,  but  the  thing  was  infernally 
funny.  Blanche,  confessing  the  awful  wrong  she 
had  done  him;  with  her  naive  compunctions  for 
keeping  her  word  to  that  little  black  hound,  who  had 
so  secretly,  shamefully  broken  his  to  her!  She  had 
never  been  so  dear  nor  so  funny  to  Carron  as  now, 
her  hands  lost  in  his,  her  cheeks  like  satin — exquisite 
surfaces  to  touch — and  all  surrounded  by  that 

326 


THE    MAN    IN    SADDLE 

curious  limit,  the  ideal ;  looking  at  him  through  the 
clear  element  of  innocence,  taking  his  word  for 
everything,  as  if  it  had  been  the  fall  of  fate.  Leav- 
ing her  he  looked  back  at  her,  down  at  her,  standing 
between  the  dark  walls  of  the  stair.  Strange,  inex- 
plicable being!  What  trifles  looked  large  to  her, 
what  gauzy  ideas  seemed  real,  what  nonsense  she 
talked,  that  was  the  very  devil  to  get  out  of  his  ears. 
If  only  she  had  retained  that  one  little  elision  of 
truth  between  them,  kept  on  her  side  one  piece  of 
double  dealing,  it  wouldn't  have  made  his  business 
quite  so  hard ! 

Hard?  He  wondered  what  he  meant  by  that 
word.  The  scheme  wasn't  hard,  it  was  easy;  and 
what  she  had  told  him  made  it  easier.  It  made  one 
more  security  for  Ferrier's  silence.  He  looked 
around  the  room  where  every  morning  her  hands 
had  made  disorder  smooth,  and  was  aware  of  a 
vague  irritation  beneath  the  surface  of  his  spirits. 
He  laid  hold  of  materials  as  if  they  had  been  his 
enemies.  His  guns  were  folly — play  acting!  but  he 
had  to  take  them.  Everything  else  could  be  inclosed 
in  the  roll  of  blankets  and  that  was  light.  He  worked 
feverishly,  knowing  himself  late,  a  thing  he  hated. 
He  had  meant  to  be  at  the  place  of  meeting  before 
the  men.  Waiting  had  a  bad  effect  on  a  courage  like 
Ferrier's.  As  well  expect  a  rabbit  to  wait!  He 

327 


SON   OF,   THE   WIND 

hoped  Blanche  would  not  appear  again  to  say  good- 
by. 

Going  out  into  the  hall  he  thought  he  heard  a  stir 
in  Mrs.  Rader's  room.  He  stopped.  Perhaps  she 
was  coming  out  to  speak  with  him.  He  would  not 
mind  having  a  word  with  her  before  he  went.  He 
listened.  Presently  the  noise  came  again,  and  this 
time  he  recognized  it.  It  was  not  any  one  moving. 
That  sharp  sound,  so  quick  to  transfix  a  man,  held 
him  motionless,  and  staring  at  the  door.  He  had  not 
thought  of  Mrs.  Rader  as  a  woman  who  cried.  Still, 
women  with  headaches —  But  was  it  thus  women 
with  headaches  cried,  as  though  the  whole  of  unhap- 
piness  had  been  made  audible  in  a  single  sound? 

There  was  something  unusual  here.  An  unusual 
impulse  sprang  in  him  to  meet  it.  He  advanced 
toward  the  door  with  the  courage  to  knock,  but,  con- 
fronted by  the  blank  wood  that  covered  silence,  his 
fingers  grew  limp.  Suppose  she  were  only  in  pain, 
and  wanted  to  be  let  alone,  what  a  fool  he  would  be 
blundering  in  there !  And  even  suppose  Ferrier  had 
kept  his  promise  of  yesterday?  How  much  time 
would  he  spend  in  reassuring  her  when  Blanche 
could  reassure  her  just  as  well — better !  He  hung  on 
his  heel,  hesitating.  Riding  as  hard  as  he  could  he 
would  scarcely  make  his  appointment.  He  slung  his 
roll  on  his  shoulder  and  went  briskly  down  the  hall. 

328 


THE   MAN    IN    SADDLE 

He  did  not  fail  to  make  his  steps  audible,  thinking 
if  Mrs.  Rader  had  anything  to  say  to  him  she  yet 
might  open  her  door.  But  there  were  no  more  figures 
to  start  up  at  him  and  stop  him,  it  seemed,  and  no 
more  voices  to  call  him  back.  At  last,  he  was  away ! 

A  wind  was  blowing  down  through  the  pines, 
making  the  branches  creak.  At  midday  the  air  was 
keen.  Thin  white  clouds  were  streaming  and  per- 
petually shifting  in  the  sky.  Only  at  the  zenith  re- 
mained a  piece  of  clear  blue.  He  looked  up  at  it 
and  smiled.  The  thought  of  Blanche  returned  to 
him,  not  this  time  as  a  being  made  of  scruples,  but  as 
a  pleasure,  arms  at  the  end  of  a  journey,  a  living 
color  fixed  for  him,  for  ever  in  the  gray  changeable 
face  of  life.  Now  for  the  sharp  adventure! 

The  chestnut  felt  the  mood  of  her  rider,  shivered 
and  danced  with  sympathetic  spirits.  "Ah,  my  pretty 
girl,"  Carron  murmured  caressingly,  "if  you  knew 
where  you  were  taking  me  you  wouldn't  be  in  such 
a  hurry  to  get  there."  His  eye  was  critical  upon  her. 
His  pet,  the  pick  of  herds,  aping  the  thoroughbred, 
now  appeared  to  him  over-narrow  in  the  chest,  too 
hollow  in  the  back,  weak  in  the  withers.  "Your 
rival,  my  dear,"  he  cruelly  assured  her,  "and  a  lot 
more  than  your  rival  besides !" 

This  was  what  he  had  come  for,  and  what  he  ex- 
pected of  himself,  and  it  was  thus  he  recognized 

329 


SON    OF.   THE   WIND 

himself,  moving  under  open  skies  with  men,  no  mat- 
ter whom,  as  long  as  they  obeyed  him,  at  any  hour  of 
the  day  or  night,  it  didn't  matter  which.  But  in  this 
case,  to  the  familiar  conditions  there  was  added  an 
unfamiliar  surrounding.  There  were  mountains 
where  he  was  accustomed  to  see  plains.  He  had  a 
few  scant  days  where  he  was  accustomed  to  use  as 
many  weeks,  and  he  saw  ahead  of  him  all  the  diffi- 
culties, unexperienced  and  uncalculated,  arising 
from  new  conditions.  The  very  trail  was  unknown  to 
him.  Every  step  he  took  forward  was  strange.  No 
time  now  to  look  back.  His  only  retrospection  was 
when  he  reached  the  place  of  meeting,  and  saw  the 
half-breed  waiting  there — and  Ferrier.  At  the  first 
glimpse,  "You  little  hound !"  he  thought.  He  shook 
inwardly  with  amusement.  Everything  the  fellow 
did  was  ugly,  yet  somehow  it  looked  trivial.  Carron 
would  have  liked  to  pick  him  up  by  the  collar  and 
pitch  him  aside,  anywhere,  down  the  canon  for  in- 
stance, but  unfortunately  it  was  necessary  to  have 
him,  a  guide  and  a  leader  for  horses. 

Their  point  of  departure  from  the  road  was  at  the 
very  place  from  which,  more  than  two  weeks  ago, 
he  had  looked  longingly  up  the  "Highway  of  the 
Gods,"  felt  he  was  turning  aside  from  the  right  way, 
yet  thought  that  way  impassable.  Had  he  stepped 
just  off  the  road  and,  stooping  a  little,  looked  down 

330 


THE    MAN    IN    SADDLE 

toward  the  right,  he  would  have  seen  the  trail,  very 
faint,  discernable  only  to  the  mountaineer's  eye,  glid- 
ing past,  protected  on  either  hand  by  rock  and  tim- 
ber. Had  he  done  this  he  might  then  and  there  have 
followed  it,  found  alone  the  dark  hills  and  the  river, 
seen,  alone,  what  he  had  been  led  to  last  night.  So 
chance  might  have  befriended  him.  Just  as  well,  she 
might  have  led  him  astray.  He  had  spent  some 
strange  days  on  a  side  track,  but  it  had  led  him  back 
again  in  one  of  those  circuitous,  long  routes  com- 
pounded of  character  and  circumstance  which  men 
call  fate,  to  this  place  where  he  had  fixed  his 
fancy  first,  with  the  gates  growing  nearer  in  front 
of  him,  and  the  blue  garden  of  mountains  beyond. 

It  was  not  an  easy  trail,  and  getting  away  on  a 
trail  into  the  mountains  is  much  like  getting  away 
from  the  coast  to  sea.  There  was  hard  choppy  go- 
ing, tacking  and  changing  before  they  began  to  get 
the  hang  of  it,  get  into  the  swing  of  their  pace,  see 
the  tops  of  eminences  all  around  them  like  tops  of 
breakers,  lose  sight  of  the  road  and  all  thought  of 
roads,  and  rejoice  to  find  themselves  voyaging  in  the 
welter  of  heights.  Carron's  activities  had  begun, 
and  plunging  into  them,  he  stripped  himself  of  the 
vanities  and  comforts  of  life  as  a  runner  throws 
aside  garments.  Necessities  appeared  luxuries,  and 
as  the  impetus  gathered  headway  the  necessity  for 


SON   OE   THE   .WIND 

motion  left  other  necessities  behind.  Food  was  the 
first,  for  he  had  started  at  daybreak  with  most  casual 
foraging.  He  had  forgotten  there  could  be  such  a 
thing  as  set  hours  when  people  gathered  at  table. 
Eating  had  become  an  act  that  gave  a  man  energy 
for  greater  acts.  It  was  something  to  be  snatched 
at  a  moment  by  the  way.  As  for  sleeping,  the  owls 
had  more  anticipation  of  it  than  he  when  night 
brought  the  sky  black  above  them,  and  the  moon  like 
an  apple  of  silver.  He,  who  had  tossed  on  a  bed  and 
thought  of  a  woman,  now  felt  the  rocking  saddle 
under  him,  heard  the  river,  heard  the  wind  in  his 
ears,  saw  the  rising  stars. 

Men  and  horses,  they  slipped  in  among  the  black 
hills  at  eight  in  the  evening,  too  late  for  work  or  for 
anything  but  turning  in.  Men  and  horses  camped 
some  half  mile  below  the  ford,  Carron  himself  lying 
close  in  the  cave.  He  had  expected  nothing  for  that 
night,  yet  when  nothing  came,  no  sound  challenging 
silence,  no  shadow  on  the  broad  moonlighted  open, 
he  experienced  a  sense  of  defeat.  His  heart  was  a 
house  of  doubts.  Reason  asserted  that  it  could  not  be 
every  night  the  creature  came  to  drink.  He  might 
watch  out  two  nights,  three  perhaps,  before  the  mo- 
ment came.  The  fear  remained  in  his  mind  that  be- 
fore it  came  again  he  might  watch  for  ever. 

He  contested  this  idea,  refused  to  believe  it,  reck- 
332 


THE  MAN  IH  SADDLE 

— i#  ^  •*#•>• 

oned  the  past,  and  perceived  that  because  lie  Had  re- 
fused to  fail  he  had  never  done  so.  Then  certainly 
this  was  to  be  a  success.  Problems  that  rose  upon 
him  for  the  next  day  restored  his  courage.  They 
were  difficult  They  required  the  whole  of  his  brain 
in  cooperation  with  imagination — the  imagination 
of  the  mathematician  calculating  toward  an  un- 
known quantity,  making  the  brain  servant  to  the  in- 
spiration. In  a  few  years  he  had  worked  out  his 
problem,  perfecting  it,  a  method  of  capture  all  his 
own.  Now  in  a  few  hours  he  had  to  readapt  the 
formula  of  the  plains  to  the  mountains,  to  reckon 
what  must  be  added,  what  could  be  left  out.  It  must 
be  a  triumph  of  omissions,  both  because  time  was 
to  be  husbanded  and  because  of  the  difficulty  of  work 
in  the  forest  without  leaving  the  signs  of  work.  On 
the  plains  the  trails  of  men  are  more  easily  erased. 
The  footsteps  are  covered  with  dust  carried  by  the 
wind,  and  the  same  wind  in  the  wide  open  carries 
away  the  human  scent;  but  here  with  forest  on 
every  side,  the  spongy  soil  underfoot,  and  an  air 
shut  in  among  heights,  there  were  delicate  surfaces 
on  every  side  to  take  the  print  of  the  human,  and  re- 
port his  elicit  presence  to  delicate,  superhuman 
senses. 

The  men  moved  as  guardedly  as  thieves  in  a  house. 
A  broken  branch  would  have  been  a  warning  to 

333 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

the  wary  master  of  the  solitude,  a  wisp  of  smoke 
an  alarm.  Therefore  no  camp-fires  were  kindled 
— not  even  a  pipe  lighted.  Therefore  no  timber  was 
hewn.  Carron  used  the  strength  of  the  forest,  mak- 
ing the  posts  of  his  barrier  growing  trees.  These 
were  thick  on  three  sides.  On  the  fourth  where  the 
river  ran  they  used  the  poles,  sinking  them  in  the 
sand  of  the  ford,  and  where  that  failed,  and  the 
water  flowed  away  into  rock,  the  canvas  was 
stretched  as  tight  as  three  men  could  draw  it  along 
the  high  bank  until  the  forest  could  give  it  support 
again.  It  was  finished  by  noon  of  the  second  day. 
All  that  was  left  was  the  harder  task  of  waiting. 
That  night  black  clouds  rose  with  the  moon,  and 
unheated,  uncomforted,  they  shivered  and  endured. 
Carron  was  so  far  advanced  into  the  intense  strain 
of  the  approaching  crisis  that  he  believed  himself 
calm.  He  believed  it  did  not  matter  whether  any- 
thing came  or  failed  to  come.  Let  come  what  would, 
nothing  could  move  him  again.  At  one  o'clock  or  a 
little  later,  the  false  calm  went  into  a  thousand 
pieces.  With  the  first  sounds  in  the  distance  his 
nerves  began  to  cry  out.  Uncertainty  plucked  apart 
resolution.  Will  the  creature  detect  the  change  ?  the 
barrier  hidden,  the  runway  in  the  forest?  No — • 
still  coming,  drawing  nearer.  Now,  he  is  stopping! 
He  has  scented  it.  He  must  already  have  entered 

334 


THE   MAN    IN    SADDLE 

it.  Surely  that  edged  instinct  that  has  never  been 
surrounded  will  feel  the  unseen  barrier  creeping 
upon  him,  drawing  in  from  each  side !  The  shadows 
of  the  pines  on  the  moonlighted  space  were  an  em- 
broidery of  gray  that  moved  before  Carron's  dis- 
ordered sight,  the  moon  was  like  a  white  flower  in  the 
clouds,  a  vague  blossom  of  light,  when  the  thing 
happened. 

The  sound  of  a  ridden  horse  crashing  in  the 
forest  came  behind  the  rhythmic  approaching  trot, 
and  instantly  a  double  rushing  of  hoofs.  Hark! 
which  way  is  the  driven  one  running  ?  Is  he  coming, 
or  has  he  turned  to  charge  his  pursuer?  The  man's 
excited  ears,  sounding  with  their  own  pulses,  could 
not  distinguish.  He  heard  the  night  broken  by 
alarms  and  echoes.  He  scrambled  from  his  hiding, 
and  remained  half  fallen  upon  the  rocks,  gaping  like 
a  terrified  boy  seeing  a  visible  thunderbolt.  It 
seemed  to  be  going  clean  over  the  barrier  over  the 
stream.  Then  the  recoil  too  quick  for  the  eye,  the 
turn.  The  moonlighted  space  was  empty ;  but  there 
was  a  sound  of  a  passing  like  a  storm  among  the 
trees.  Away  for  ever — away  to  the  other  side  of 
the  world — away  from  the  man  who  thought  to  cor- 
ral the  wind.  Hola!  There  it  came  again,  the 
swing  about.  What  had  happened?  Carron's  be- 
wildered senses  recognized  the  flight  of  terror.  Now 

335 


SON    OF   THE   tWIND 

he  heard  it  on  the  right,  now  on  the  left  among  the 
trees ;  and  at  intervals  his  eyes  saw  a  black,  gleaming 
body  shooting  like  an  apparition  across  the  open 
space.  It  disappeared  and  turned  on  itself,  and  ap- 
peared again !  The  water  was  churned  white  in  the 
ford. 

That  was  a  fine  charge  of  fate,  a  brave  chal- 
lenge of  the  inevitable — but  not  over  it !  The  hoofs 
that  could  dash  out  a  man's  brains  scattered  peb- 
bles. Swiftness  that  had  covered  long  distances 
straight  now  ran  in  a  circle  like  insanity.  Birth  of 
the  winds,  skimmer  over  the  world,  by  all  miracles 
he  was  real!  He  was  caught  between  walls  of 
earthly  stuff;  and  a  little  drunken  human  being, 
drunk  with  his  moment  of  power,  danced  among  the 
boulders,  threw  up  his  hat  idiotically  toward  the 
moon,  and  raised  his  voice  in  a  quavering  cheer. 


336 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  SUPERB  MOMENT 

FOR  a  time  which  he  had  no  way  of  measuring 
he  knew  he  was  beside  himself.  He  was  Car- 
ron,  perhaps,  but  he  was  Carron  translated,  caught 
up  in  the  flesh  into  paradise.  Voices  from  the  earth 
were  shouting  anxiously,  "Look  out,  look  out,  he'll 
get  away!  That  stuff  will  never  stand  it!"  He 
laughed  at  them.  It  was  only  canvas — but  hadn't 
Carron  set  it  up  there?  That  was  reason  enough 
for  its  never  coming  down.  He  published  himself 
the  conqueror  of  the  unconquerable,  and,  staggering 
with  success,  he  still  remembered  to  order  some  of 
those  vague  people  around  him  to  make  sure  the  gate 
closing  the  corral  was  fast.  He  had  a  coil  of  rope  in 
his  hand,  ready  with  the  lasso  lest  there  be  any  dan- 
ger of  escape.  Himself  with  the  others  made  sure 
of  the  barrier  by  light  of  lanterns  and  the  clouded 
moon.  His  heart  was  going  a  hundred  to  the  min- 
ute, but  his  watch  measured  off  the  minutes  as  it  had 
measured  them  two  weeks  ago,  or  an  hour  ago.  The 
caps  of  the  mountains  stood  steady,  extraordinarily 
insensible  against  the  sky. 

337 


SON   OF   THE   .WIND 

Amazing  how  still  everything  was!  He  heard 
only  the  chuckle  of  the  water,  the  brittle  crash  of 
men's  footsteps  in  the  brush,  and  the  pacing  of  the 
thing  inside.  That  moved  as  if  it  never  would  be 
still  again.  Sometimes  he  saw  it,  a  black  bulk 
among  the  trees,  then  black  and  silver  swinging 
through  the  moonlight  space,  to  be  swallowed  again 
in  trees.  It  was  like  a  disappearing  appearing  form 
in  a  dream.  It  looked  so  improbable  to  him  he  half 
expected  it  must  melt  before  his  eyes,  and  change 
into  something  else.  Then  the  moon  set,  and  he  no 
longer  saw,  only  heard.  Reality  retreated  further 
from  him,  and  at  rare  intervals  when  the  sound  of 
the  hoofs  stopped,  it  seemed  as  though  the  horse 
must  have  vanished.  At  last  the  flood  of  night  and 
magic  ran  out  and  left  him  with  his  captive,  visible, 
real  and  still  in  his  hands. 

In  his  hands,  not  figuratively  only,  but  in  fact. 
Carron  remembered  for  a  long  time  the  moment 
when  he  first  touched  the  body  which  had  appeared 
to  him  like  a  vision.  It  lost  nothing  in  value,  though 
he  had  proved  it  to  be  flesh,  though  he  fastened  it 
with  ropes.  Rather  the  value  increased  to  him.  For 
now  he  could  see  every  detail  of  beauty  and  found 
them  perfect — perfect  proportion,  form  without  a 
blemish,  youth  in  the  teeth,  and  lineage  in  the  fierce, 
full  eye.  The  inheritance  from  remote,  illustrious 

338 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

sires  spoke  there,  and  in  the  small  head,  and  fine  thin 
mane.  But  there  was  another  inheritance  in  the 
creature  that  manifested  itself  strangely.  Bound, 
held  immovable,  strained  into  humiliating  contor- 
tions, there  was  still  a  look  of  aloofness  in  him. 
While  the  ropes  cut  into  his  flesh,  they  had  to  be- 
lieve they  handled  him;  but  once  the  ropes  were  off 
all  sense  of  controlling  him  or  ever  having  controlled 
him,  was  gone.  With  his  foreleg  doubled  back  and 
fastened  sharply  up  beneath  his  belly,  lunging  at 
every  step,  the  illusion  of  liberty  still  hung  about 
him.  Something  that  was  big  in  his  narrow  brain, 
something  that  did  not  understand  what  bondage 
was,  seemed  even  in  the  narrow  inclosure  to  take 
him  away  from  them.  It  seemed  almost  as  if  the 
famous  heritage  the  Indians  claimed  for  him  was 
truth.  Carron,  with  a  hot  heart  of  triumph,  with 
cool,  calculating  eyes,  surveyed  the  creature,  and  de- 
cided that  he  would  take  a  deal  of  letting  alone.  Let 
him  alone  for  the  first  twelve  hours ;  let  him  get  used 
to  himself  in  his  new  conditions.  To-morrow  they 
could  put  the  halter  on  him,  and  perhaps  be  able,  the 
next  day,  to  lead  him  out.  Meanwhile  the  horse- 
breaker  made  tentative  experiments  in  driving  him, 
and  had  plentiful  examples  of  how  obstinate,  fierce 
and  quick  an  animal  with  only  three  legs  to  use 
might  be. 

339 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

They  had  hobbled  Son  of  the  Wind  while  morn- 
ing was  yet  small  and  golden  on  the  tops  of  the  hills. 
Afternoon,  rushing  upon  them,  found  their  camp  es- 
tablished. No  need  to  cover  trail  now.  The  place 
in  the  wilderness  was  like  a  box  broken  open,  the 
treasure  of  its  inviolability  gone.  Trails  were 
trampled,  horses  picketed.  There  was  the  reek  of 
tobacco,  the  smoke  of  fires ;  and  the  odor  of  cooking 
was  blown  to  noble,  unhuman,  indignant  nostrils. 
Even  on  the  other  side  of  the  Sphinx,  ready  for  the 
man  who  wanted  to  make  the  shorter  journey,  a 
pony  browsed  among  blowing  fodder  that  had  been 
strewn  for  him  there.  All  was  filled  with  the  clutter 
of  human  expedients — beautiful  if  a  man  looks  to 
the  expedient — and  Carron  did.  Some  uneasy 
change  in  the  atmosphere,  sharpening  odors  of  dead 
leaves,  deepening  of  distance  colors,  intensifying  of 
cold,  warned  him  that  time  for  what  he  wanted  was 
growing  short.  How  short  he  could  not  tell.  Dawn 
of  the  next  day  showed  him.  The  cold  rose  in  the 
east  lighted  an  ominous  prospect.  The  sky,  which 
yesterday  had  been  violet,  was  blue  like  a  sword; 
there  was  an  edge  in  the  air  that  went  to  the  bone. 
A  cloud  stretched  in  a  pathway  from  the  east  to  the 
zenith,  and  its  edges  of  opaque  gray  continually 
spread  toward  the  north  and  south.  Nature  measures 
her  seasons  with  no  thought  of  giving  a  background 

340 


THE    SUPERB   MOMENT 

'for  the  prodigious  performances  of  men.  Oftener 
their  plans  are  dashed  to  pieces  against  her  immov- 
able system.  So  Carron  thought,  staring  up  at  the 
cloud.  By  that  he  had  two  days.  He  calculated 
hours  and  events. 

The  first,  most  important,  was  a  thing  quite  out- 
side the  business  in  hand,  but  it  was  a  precaution, 
and  necessary.  He  felt  a  vague  distaste  for  what  he 
was  about  to  do,  without  knowing  why.  His  mo- 
mentous affair  took  all  his  mind.  Every  person  and 
thing  about  him  was  absorbed  into  that  interest.  Fer- 
rier  no  longer  existed  to  him  as  an  individual.  Fer- 
rier  was  simply  the  factotum  of  the  camp,  and  had 
no  connection  in  Carron's  thoughts  with  any  other 
place  or  moment.  He  explained  to  Ferrier  what 
was  expected  of  him :  to  take  the  pony  waiting  at 
the  foot  of  the  Sphinx,  get  in  to  Beckwith  as  fast  as 
possible,  meet  the  vaquero  coming  up  on  the  morn- 
ing train,  bring  him  to  the  place  where  the  trail 
passed  Ferrier's  house,  and  direct  him  along  the 
way.  "That  will  be  all  I  want  of  you,"  he  con- 
cluded; "we  will  be  on  the  lookout  for  him  on  the 
other  side.  You  need  not  come  back."  He  added 
that  Ferrier  would  better  stop  in  at  the  Raders'  and 
tell  them  that  Carron  would  not  return  to-night  as 
he  had  expected,  but  probably  the  day  after  to-mor- 
row. He  ended  with  a  feeling  of  triumph  that  at  last 

341 


SON    OF.   THE   WIND 

he  had  done  with  this  unpleasant  assistance,  and 
might  kick  it  behind  him,  and  forget  that  he  had 
had  it.  Ferrier  stood  planted  in  the  middle  of  the 
trail  where  Carron  had  stopped  him,  looking  at  the 
horse-breaker  with  an  astonished  air.  "Why  do  you 
want  to  send  a  message  to  the  Raders  if  you  aren't 
going  back  there  again  ?"  he  demanded.  "You've  got 
the  horse,  haven't  you?  Then  why  don't  you  get  out 
as  quietly  and  as  fast  as  you  can  ?" 

Was  there  no  leaving  this  fellow  behind  ?  Was  he 
always  to  be  with  a  man;  more  than  with  him — 
ahead  of  him ;  starting  up  in  front  of  him  with  some 
devilish  pertinence  of  the  past  ? 

Carron  replied  evasively  with  what  was  a  part  of 
the  truth,  that  if  no  message  was  sent  the  Raders 
might  become  anxious  and  despatch  some  one  in 
search  of  him,  and  people  coming  upon  him  here  in 
his  present  situation  was  certainly  the  last  thing  he 
wanted.  It  was  not  probable,  but  in  this  case  he  pre- 
ferred to  be  on  the  safe  side.  If  Ferrier  was  afraid 
of  questions  he  could  carry  a  written  message,  and  he 
could  tell  Mrs.  Rader  that  a  half-breed  had  brought 
it  to  him  at  his  house. 

This  reassurance  did  not  seem  at  all  to  touch  the 
point  of  the  man's  fear.  He  would  not,  could  not, 
dared  not  face  the  Raders!  He  was  afraid  to  go 
back.  He  was  afraid  to  go  home.  He  was  afraid, 

342 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

it  appeared,  of  everything  outside  of  Carron's 
shadow.  He  clung  to  that  as  if  the  horse-breaker 
were  his  one  protector  and  friend. 

"But  you  will  have  to  go  back  some  time !"  Car- 
ron  insisted.  "You  will  have  to  go  back  day  after 
to-morrow  when  I  am  gone.  Why  not  now  ?  What's 
the  difference  ?"  He  was  exasperated,  but  he  couldn't 
help  smiling.  Ferrier  was  a  figure  to  made  Mel- 
pomene smile.  He  was  laden  with  impedimenta 
from  the  first  camp  down  the  river,  blankets  on  his 
back,  camp  kettles  on  one  arm,  rifle  under  the  other 
— a  tragic  stubbornness  in  his  face.  "There  is  a  dif- 
ference," he  said.  He  glanced  at  Carron,  then  at 
the  trees,  at  the  steep  ascent  of  the  Sphinx  in 
front  of  him.  He  seemed  to  be  a  man  with  more 
than  one  dread.  "When  you  are  gone,  you're 
gone,"  he  began  rapidly,  "and  the  horse,  too, 
and  then  I'll  be  certain  they'll  never  find  out.  But 
while  I  know  you  are  here,  if  I  should  see  them,  and 
anything  should  be  said,  I'd  get  rattled;  I  know  I 
would !  I'd  give  it  away !  They'd  get  it  out  of  me." 

"Come !  That's  no  reason  at  all — a  girl's  reason !" 
Son  of  the  Wind  had  renewed  his  plungings.  The 
hollow  stream  bed  multiplied  echoes.  Carron  looked 
past  Ferrier  to  the  opening  in  the  trees,  which  gave 
a  glimpse  of  the  ford  at  a  little  distance.  He  had 
been  at  broad  grin,  and  the  expression  continued  to 

343 


SON   OE   THE   WIND 

draw  his  lips,  but  in  his  mind  he  ceased  to  be  amused. 
His  forehead  wrinkled  in  anxiety  to  make  out  what 
sort  of  thing  he  was  seeing. 

Ferrier  swung  around  on  his  heel.  "Oh  Lord!" 
he  said. 

The  apparition  was  no  dreadful  one.  It  was 
planted  leg-deep  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  the 
body  a  little  crouched  together,  the  head  held  low 
on  a  stretched  neck,  elbows  bent,  hands  carried  for- 
ward— no,  those  must  be  paws.  It  was  an  animal 
that  had  scented,  just  risen  to  its  hind  legs  for  ob- 
servation. Carron  watched  to  see  it  drop  back  on  all 
fours,  and  experienced  a  vague,  uneasy  astonishment 
when  it  began  to  move  forward  still  upright  on  two 
feet,  wading  through  the  ford.  With  each  step 
forward  the  animal  aspect  melted ;  by  the  time  it  had 
climbed  the  bank  and  emerged  upon  the  level  the 
illusion  was  gone;  yet,  what  remained,  or  rather 
what  had  evolved  itself,  though  it  was  not  beast, 
certainly  was  scarcely  human.  It  was  in  fact  that 
being  which  Ferrier  had  never  called  his  brother,  and 
which  as  it  approached,  appeared  to  have  no  relation 
to  the  man  on  the  road,  or  indeed  to  any  man. 
A  shaggy  deity  of  the  forest  might  have  stared  with 
such  foreign,  incommunicable  eyes,  not  cruel,  not 
crafty,  not  even  vacant,  but  containing  nothing 
human  intelligence  understands.  Behind  him  the 

344 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

sound  of  horses'  feet  was  audible,  tramping,  con- 
tinuously circling,  now  on  the  rock,  now  in  the 
water. 

"How  did  he  get  out  here?"  Carron  said,  turning 
upon  his  companion. 

"I  don't  know!  How  should  I  know?  He  goes 
all  over  the  country.  He's  everywhere.  What  dif- 
ference does  it  make  how  he  got  here?"  Ferrier  re- 
torted breathlessly.  "He  is  here.  Don't  you  see? 
He's  been  over  there — he's  seen  it!  He's  seen  me ! 
I'm  afraid — "  He  shrank  into  Carron's  shadow. 
"Don't  let  him  get  by!  Don't  let  him  go !"  he  whis- 
pered. 

"Why  not?   He  doesn't  understand  anything?" 

"Not  what  he  hears — but  when  he  sees  a  thing; 
and  he  saw  me !" 

"And  he  sees  me.  Steady,"  Carron  murmured. 
"He  isn't  trying  to  pass  us.  He's  coming  toward  us." 

The  boy  had  diverged  a  little  from  the  path,  and 
was  advancing  toward  them  through  the  trees  with 
great  deliberation.  His  movements  were  smooth — 
no  pause,  no  quickening;  slow,  yet  apparently  with- 
out reluctance.  His  gaze  was  on  Carron's  face. 
What  did  he  want?  Was  he  bringing  a  message? 
He  had  not  the  aspect  of  a  messenger  whose  purpose 
would  be  haste,  and  here  there  seemed  to  be  a  pur- 
pose in  slowness.  It  chained  the  attention.  Was 

345 


SON   OF   THE  WIND 

this  insanity?  Had  the  simpleton  gone  mad?  It 
was  the  natural  explanation;  yet,  the  creature  had 
never  looked  less  mad  than  he  did  at  this  moment. 
There  was  something  beneath  the  surface  light  of  the 
eye — something  discriminating  and  personal  that 
does  not  belong  to  insanity.  Drawing  closer  it  ap- 
peared as  though,  centered  deep  in  each  pupil,  there 
was  a  live,  concentrated  spark.  It  shone  dimly,  as 
if  from  behind  a  veil.  He  was  in  front  of  Carron 
when  the  veil  seemed  to  lift,  and  the  meaning  blazed. 
Hate,  the  high  human  prerogative,  for  a  moment, 
transformed  the  nameless  little  being  into  a  man. 

A  wave  went  through  Carron's  blood,  hotter  than 
dislike  or  disgust.  The  senses  acknowledged  an 
equal,  were  ready  for  an  opponent  before  the  mind 
could  think.  George  Ferrier  was  furtively  advancing 
his  foot,  and  very  slowly  extending  his  hand.  The 
horse-breaker  watched  it,  feeling  himself  attacked, 
not  knowing  in  what  manner  to  guard.  He  reckoned 
how  hard  he  could  strike  to  stun  without  killing. 
The  tips  of  the  fingers  had  almost  touched  him  when 
the  boy  leaped,  not  forward  upon  his  adversary,  nor 
backward  from  him,  but  sidewise,  like  a  cat. 

Carron  clutched  at  him,  grasped  air,  and  stumbled 
forward  on  hands  and  knees.  He  heard  something 
dash  past  him  up  the  slope,  the  ringing  of  iron  on 
the  ground.  He  got  to  his  feet  in  time  to  see  the  boy 

346 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

dive  into  the  underbrush  like  a  fox.  Bert  Ferrier, 
like  a  hound  off  the  scent,  ran  back  and  forth  whim- 
pering, "Stop  him,  stop  him!" 

Shouting  to  Ferrier,  to  Esmeralda  Charley  to  beat 
up  through  the  bush,  Carron  ran  up  the  trail.  It 
swung  far  to  the  right,  then  as  far  to  the  left,  and 
the  first  sharp  turn  commanded  the  underwood  to 
the  river.  From  here  he  overlooked  the  sea  of  dull 
green,  saw  the  half-breed  floundering  in  the  bristling 
stuff,  saw  Ferrier  running  along  the  edge  of  it,  his 
rifle  still  in  his  hand.  He  was  frantically  waving 
the  other  arm,  and  seemed  in  terror,  a  divided  ter- 
ror, lest  their  prey  escape,  and  lest  it  spring  unex- 
pectedly upon  him  out  of  the  scrub.  But  out  of  it 
came  only  a  few  birds,  rising  on  wings  to  their  air 
trails.  Carron's  glance  ranged  to  the  left.  The  fugi- 
tive might  have  edged  away  in  that  direction.  Noth- 
ing stirred. 

Ferrier,  abandoning  even  the  appearance  of  help- 
ing the  Indian,  came  pounding  up  the  trail  to  where 
the  horse-breaker  stood.  "It's  no  use !  You'll  never 
find  him!"  he  panted. 

His  face  was  red,  and  his  voice  piped  through  his 
laboring  breath.  He  looked  furiously  at  Carron. 
"Why  didn't  you  hold  on  to  him  ?  Why  in  hell  did 
you  let  him  get  by  you?" 

"How  in  hell  was  I  to  know  he  was  going  by? 
347 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

He  was  coming  toward  us,  as  if  he  wanted  some- 
thing." 

The  elder  Ferrier  snarled  with  disdain.  "Of 
course !  That's  what  he  meant  you  to  think !  That's 
what  he  was  aiming  for  from  the  start — that's  how 
he  fooled  you."  He  triumphed  in  Carron's  dis- 
comfiture; was  proud  for  once  of  his  brother's  at- 
tainment. "Oh,  he  fooled  you  fast  enough!  He's 
smart  enough  sometimes!  Look,  look!"  His  voice, 
breaking  off  its  scorn,  quavered.  Both  men  stared 
aloft.  Higher  than  the  place  where  they  stood, 
higher  than  the  trees,  a  ripple  ran  like  a  snake  on  the 
tops  of  the  bushes.  A  light  crashing  was  audible  as 
though  some  animal  was  traveling  swiftly,  invisibly. 

"That's  not  he !"  Carron  shouted  it  in  his  amaze- 
ment. "He  couldn't  get  above  me !" 

"Oh,  you  think  no  one  can  get  above  you !  I  tell 
you  he  is !" 

"I  tell  you  there  hasn't  been  time !" 

"He  runs  like  a  coyote." 

"A  man  can't  run  in  brush." 

"H^can!" 

The  ripple  had  reached  the  end  of  the  underwoods. 
There  it  transformed  itself  into  a  bending  and  rend- 
ing of  twigs,  then  into  a  dark  human  form,  which 
emerged  upon  the  naked  breast  of  the  Sphinx. 

"A-a-ahh !"  Ferrier  said.  The  sound  came  from 
348 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

the  throat,  an  animal's  voice.  He  threw  his  gun  up 
to  his  shoulder.  Carron  was  quick  enough.  He 
knocked  the  muzzle  up,  and  the  bullet  sang  into  the 
sky.  The  figure  on  the  rock  flung  up  long  arms  above 
his  head  and  brandished  them.  Whether  the  contor- 
tions were  delight  or  derision  it  was  impossible  to 
know — but  certainly  they  were  not  fear. 

"I  won't  kill  him !"  Ferrier  said.  "I  only  want  to 
get  him  in  the  arm  or  leg ;  I  want  to  stop  him !  He'll 
get  away!" 

"Drop  it,  or  you'll  get  a  slug  in  your  own  body !" 
the  horse-breaker  said  sternly.  He  took  the  gun, 
threw  off  the  cock,  and  looked  again  up  at  the 
Sphinx.  The  boy  had  disappeared. 

Ferrier  sat  down  and  howled.  Carron  felt  like 
laughing.  Now  that  the  bewilderment  of  the  unex- 
pected was  past,  the  appearance  of  George  Ferrier 
ceased  to  be  alarming.  It  appeared  to  Carron  one  of 
those  accidents,  dramatic  and  arresting  in  aspect, 
which  are  no  more  portentous  in  fact  than  a  dream. 
It  had  gone  like  a  dream.  All  that  remained  to  him 
was  irritation  at  being  outwitted,  and  a  shiver  of  the 
flesh.  But  this  poor  fool  on  the  ground — what  ailed 
him,  smitten  as  if  by  the  appearance  of  his  fate? 
What  could  the  boy  report  but  that  he  had  seen  a 
horse  in  a  corral?  How  could  he  report  at  all? 
With  what  gesture,  what  intelligible  sound?  One 

349 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

thing  that  was  to  the  point,  was  clear.  Ferrier's 
performance  had  been  shocking,  but  it  was  only  evi- 
dence of  abject  nerves.  He  would  never  do  for  a 
messenger.  He  would  blurt  out  the  secret  to  the  first 
face.  Carron  touched  him  compassionately.  "You're 
used  up,"  he  said.  "You'd  better  get  some  sleep." 

He  made  ready  himself,  giving  the  half-breed 
final  instructions :  to  drive  the  stallion  into  the  open 
part  of  the  corral — Ferrier  could  help  him  with  that 
• — and  put  up  the  second  wall  of  canvas  at  the  edge 
of  the  trees;  to  leave  the  mares  in  the  corral,  and,  at 
intervals  to  try  whether  the  stallion  would  drive 
with  them;  to  see  that  Ferrier  didn't  get  at  any 
whisky. 

The  brown,  little  man  listened  attentively,  and  of- 
fered no  comment.  He  was  the  sort  to  have — a  fel- 
low with  a  dog's  faith,  and  no  ideas  in  his  head  but 
the  ones  the  horse-breaker  had  put  into  it.  A  pity 
he  had  to  be  left  alone  with  the  full  weight  of  re- 
sponsibility, Carron  thought,  and  said  so.  "What  if 
any  part  of  the  corral  should  be  ineffective?  The 
half-breed  contemptuously  smiled.  Fifty  horses  like 
this  one,  he  represented,  couldn't  get  out  of  it. 

"There  aren't  fifty  like  this  horse,  Charley,"  Car- 
ron said,  "there  isn't  one."  His  quirt  was  in  his 
hand;  his  sweater  pulled  to  his  ears,  his  cap  to  his 
eyes.  Whistling  he  climbed  the  terraces  of  stone, 

350 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

and  passing  through  the  window  of  the  Sphinx,  de- 
scending, took  horse  on  the  other  side.  The  first, 
maddest  elation  had  subsided.  He  had  come  down 
from  the  skies,  but  he  was  still  Carron  seated  on 
top  of  the  world.  He  ached  with  the  prolonged  ten- 
sion of  the  last  three  nights.  He  had  wrenched  his 
shoulder  in  spoiling  Ferrier's  aim,  and  an  old  rheu- 
matic pain  stabbed  him  with  intermittent  fury;  yet 
he  had  never  been  so  happy  in  his  life. 

The  sweet  consciousness  of  achievement  coursed 
through  brain  to  finger-tips  —  not  the  dubious 
achievement  of  the  mind,  not  the  quality  of  facts,  but 
the  fact  itself,  the  incontrovertible  success  of  the 
hands.  He  had  succeeded  before.  As  far  as  he  could 
remember  he  had  always  succeeded ;  but  it  had  been 
with  lesser  things ;  and  then  to  get  one  thing  he  had 
invariably  had  to  give  up  another.  He  had  put  that 
down  as  a  rule  of  life,  had  never  expected  anything 
better ;  but  now  he  had,  at  once,  the  two  things  of  all 
the  world  he  most  wanted.  He  had  only  to  keep 
them  apart  very  quietly  that  the  one  should  not  know 
of  the  other.  It  was  a  dizzying  discovery.  Never, 
since  he  had  been  a  boy,  had  life  seemed  so  filled 
to  the  brim  with  everything  for  him,  so  limitless  in 
possibilities.  Nothing  would  ever  say  no  to  him 
again.  He  breathed  deep,  drawing  the  future  toward 
him. 

351 


SON    OF    THE   .WIND 

If  he  had  done  as  he  pleased  he  would  have  re- 
turned with  his  man  from  Beckwith  straight  to 
the  camp  in  the  shadow  of  the  Sphinx.  But  there 
was  no  avoiding  the  stop  at  Raders'.  Since  he  had 
told  them  he  would  be  back  that  night  it  would  be 
safe  to  put  in  an  appearance  and  let  them  know  that 
everything  was  all  right,  especially  since  that  ap- 
pearance of  George  Ferrier.  It  was  midday  when  he 
left  his  vaquero  to  wait  for  him  at  the  foot  of  Ra- 
der's  Hill  and  ascended  the  road  between  the  bend- 
ing trees.  All  this  country,  which  for  long  had  lain 
asleep  in  the  sun,  was  beginning  to  stir  uneasily  in  the 
shadow  of  the  cloud.  A  shiver,  rather  than  a  wind, 
was  in  the  wood.  The  road  was  without  its  dia- 
monds of  light;  the  clearing  before  the  house  with- 
out its  noon  circle  of  sun.  The  house  itself  looked 
as  small  to  him  and  as  frail  as  a  paper  box.  He  felt 
that  he  could  kick  it  over.  There  was  a  continuous, 
dry  rustling  of  dead  stuff.  The  rushing  of  the  pines 
sounded  like  surf.  Glorious  weather!  He  jumped 
out  of  saddle  and  ran  along  the  porch.  How  beauti- 
ful to  rush  in  on  them  and  tell  them  about  it.  Why, 
in  the  name  of  Heaven,  were  women  such  strange 
sweet  fools? 

He  heard  the  barking  of  a  dog  inside,  and  opening 
the  door,  Beetles  met  him,  hailed  him  with  leaps  and 
crouchings  as  his  deliverer,  his  master,  his  adored 

352 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

and  worshiped  god,  returned  at  last;  from  where, 
was  of  no  interest  to  Beetles.  Carron  caressed  him, 
assured  him  that  he  was  an  excellent  little  dog,  but 
not  at  all  the  person  wanted,  and  went  on  in  search. 
At  this  hour  the  women  would  probably  be  in  the 
kitchen  together,  but  the  room  was  empty.  A  cloth 
was  flung  on  a  chair  as  it  might  have  fallen  from  a 
careless  hand.  The  sink  was  full  of  tins.  "They  will 
be  back  in  a  moment,"  Carron  thought ;  but  inspec- 
tion showed  the  fire  in  the  stove  to  be  nearly  out  and 
the  water  in  the  pans  cold.  In  the  dining-room  dishes 
stood  on  the  table  as  they  had  been  left  from  break- 
fast, the  shades  were  drawn  high,  a  cold  light  filled 
the  place,  and  flies  sang  in  the  panes.  Impatient  at 
not  finding  people  where  he  expected  them  when  he 
wanted  them,  he  ran  up-stairs.  No  answers  to  his 
knocks.  Down-stairs  again,  and  an  inspiration  seized 
him.  It  was  possible  that  they  were  employed  in 
some  way  about  the  greater  house.  He  opened  the 
door  which  led  from  the  little  hall  into  the  large  din- 
ing-room. Here  he  experienced  the  curious  sensa- 
tion of  one  who  enters  a  room  in  which  he  has 
been  on  one  occasion,  with  which  he  has  but  one 
association.  Carron  had  not  been  here  since  his  first 
morning  in  the  house,  when  Blanche  had  led  him 
through,  and  now  the  odor  of  the  place,  dry  and  en- 
closed, revivified  the  past  moment.  He  had  a  flying 

353 


recollection  of  how  she  had  looked  to  him,  that  clear 
first  impression  of  personality,  just  how  she  had 
walked  across  the  floor  between  the  tables  and  the 
army  of  chairs.  It  seemed  almost  she  must  be  cross- 
ing it  now,  one  foot  advanced  with  the  temptation  to 
slide,  glancing  at  him  with  serious,  sidelong  turn  of 
her  head. 

No  one  was  crossing  it.  The  tables  had  been 
pushed  back  against  the  wall.  A  glassy  surface 
stretched  uninterrupted,  reflecting  like  a  pool  of 
water,  but  at  the  other  side  of  it,  the  sole  figure  in  the 
expanse,  the  scholar  was  standing.  He  was  fronting 
Carron,  but  did  not  appear  to  see  him  or  hear  him. 
He  had  the  look  of  being  adrift  in  the  large  place, 
stranded  by  the  table,  clinging  there,  a  limp  body 
without  volition.  His  gaze  was  fixed  upon  a  white 
sugar-bowl  as  though  it  contained  the  secret  of  the 
universe.  Carron  looked  at  him  affectionately.  This 
was  his  fellow  conspirator  who  was  responsible  for 
to-day's  triumph.  He  was  more  glad  to  see  the 
scholar  at  this  moment  than  any  other  person  in  the 
house.  He  wanted  to  shout  out  the  good  news  from 
where  he  stood,  to  wring  his  hand  with  congratula- 
tions. "Hello,"  he  said,  "are  you  getting  lost,  Mr. 
Rader?" 

The  scholar  raised  his  head  with  a  nervous  toss, 
peculiar  and  characteristic,  and  stood  at  gaze.  Thus, 

354 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

surprised  and  blank,  he  might  have  regarded  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  stranger. 

Carron  made  a  run  and  a  slide  across  the  shining 
floor.  "Didn't  you  expect  me?"  he  asked.  , 

Rader  had  backed  a  little  as  if  this  onslaught  had 
nearly  put  him  to  flight,  and  now,  confronted  im- 
mediately by  the  man  and  the  question,  "No,"  he 
said,  and  looked  down.  "I've  dashed  in  on  him  too 
suddenly  and  scared  him  out  of  his  thoughts,"  Car- 
ron reflected. 

"I  told  you  I  would  be  back  to-night,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  but — "  Rader's  air  was  embarrassed  and 
shy.  He  seemed  unable  to  get  any  further. 

Carron  smiled  encouragingly  at  him.  "I  have  had 
good  luck,"  he  said.  He  couldn't  resist  that  much, 
though  he  knew  he  was  treading  dangerous  ground. 

The  scholar  raised  his  large  blue  eyes  and  fixed 
them  on  the  young  man.  There  was  a  spark  in  the 
center  of  each,  the  flame  of  a  most  acute  distress. 
The  signal  reached  Carron  even  in  the  citadel  of  his 
success. 

"What's  happened  ?"  he  said.  He  was  dimly  con- 
cerned that  his  friend,  this  good  fellow,  should  be 
unhappy,  suffering.  Still  he  was  smiling.  Every- 
thing that  happened,  or  might  still  be  happening, 
among  the  people  of  this  house  looked  far  beneath 
him  and  small  as  the  things  on  earth  appear  to  a 

355 


SON   OE  THE   WIND 

voyager  in  a  balloon.  "Has  Mrs.  Rader  heard  yet,  I 
mean  the  facts  about  us,  eh  ?" 

"Yes,"  Rader  answered,  "she—" 

The  outer  door  closed  and  a  precipitous  step  came 
along  the  hall. 

"Oh  Lord !"  he  said  helplessly. 

"Brace  up,"  Carron  urged.  "It's  all  right.  It's 
only  Blanche." 

"It's  Mrs.  Rader,"  the  scholar  said.  "You— 
she—" 

He  had  started  again  to  speak  of  his  wife,  but  if 
he  wanted  to  give  Carron  a  hint  of  any  sort  he  was 
too  late  with  it.  The  young  man  would  have 
wagered  it  was  the  girl's  step  he  had  heard ;  but  the 
door  opened  upon  the  older  woman.  Her  hair  was 
blown,  and  a  shawl  was  held  over  her  shoulders. 
He  scarcely  knew  her  coming  in  with  this  headlong 
manner.  She  saw  him  and  stopped.  The  draft 
carried  to  the  door  behind  her  with  a  clap  that 
sounded  like  a  gun  of  defiance. 

Here  was  no  time  for  smiling,  however  much  a 
man  might  feel  like  it.  The  woman  fates  were 
against  him — and  he  must  pull  a  sober  face.  He  went 
quickly,  propitiatorily  forward.  "Mr.  Rader  tells 
me  you  know  about  it." 

She  did  not  speak,  but  holding  the  shawl  around 
her  with  nervous  fingers,  kept  looking  at  him  in  a 

356 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

way  that  made  him  uncomfortable.  "I  am  sorry 
you  don't  like  it,"  he  said. 

She  turned  from  him  abruptly  upon  her  husband. 
"Are  you  a  man  ?"  she  demanded.  "You  could  stand 
here  and  let  him  come  in  ?" 

"How  could  I  help  it?"  Rader  inquired  queru- 
lously. "He  was  in  here  before  I  knew."  He  sat 
down  disconsolately  in  one  of  the  army  of  chairs. 

"You  wouldn't  have  kept  him  out  anyway,"  she 
retorted.  "You  care  more  about  what  you  want  to 
do  than  about  your  own  blood." 

The  subject  of  this  discussion  stood  hearing  it 
as  if  he  were  hearing  of  some  third  indefinite  person. 
He  felt  astonished,  and  curious  to  know  what  that 
person  had  done.  "Mrs.  Rader,"  he  urged,  "I  know 
very  well  that  from  the  first  you  haven't  liked  me, 
but  I  am  not  such  a  bad  sort  as  you  think." 

The  woman's  breast  heaved  as  if  her  narrow 
frame  were  too  small  to  contain  her  emotion. 

"You  know  what  Blanche  thinks  about  it,  I  sup- 
pose?" he  added. 

"Yes." 

"Where  is  she?" 

"You  won't  see  her !" 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Rader,"  Carron  protested,  and 
began  to  feel  irritated,  "you  have  not  heard  the 
facts?" 

357 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

"I  have  heard  enough." 

"For  instance?" 

"I  have  heard  about  the  horse." 

With  the  word  everything,  even  Rader's  aspect, 
became  serious.  "What  horse?"  he  said  coldly. 

"The  wild  horse." 

He  looked  at  her  steadily.  He  knew  that,  if  his 
eyes  wavered  an  instant,  something  in  his  mind 
would  waver  too,  and  lose  grasp  of  the  situation.  A 
dozen  thoughts  were  struggling  there  for  first  place. 
"Did  that  boy  George  tell  you?" 

"It  wasn't  George.    It  was  Bert." 

He  shouted  at  her.   "He  couldn't !" 

"Why?    Did  you  think  he  was  loyal  to  you?" 

Carron  didn't  hear  her  sarcasm,  her  triumph; 
heard  nothing  but  the  preposterous  fact.  He  shot 
a  glance  into  the  past  and  saw  the  passionate,  futile 
figure  of  the  man  on  the  road.  That  fellow,  immo- 
lated in  confession,  blazing  up  at  the  last  with  cour- 
age enough  to  dash  down  his  own  hope  with  his 
rival's?  Admirable  desperation,  who  could  have 
dreamed  he  had  that  much  in  him!  Carron  could 
have  sworn  he  knew  his  man  to  the  hilt,  but  he1 
couldn't  imagine  how  Ferrier  would  look  meeting  the 
pinch  of  the  facts.  "Exactly  what  did  he  tell  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Rader  seemed  to  find  something  in  his  man- 
ner she  did  not  understand.  "He  said  he  met  you 

358 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

on  the  road  coming  up  here,  and  that  you  a'sked  him 
where  there  was  a  house  that  would  take  you  in  over 
night ;  and  he  directed  you  to  this  one." 

Carron's  attentive  ear  marked  the  omission. 
"Well— and  then?" 

"He  said  that  after  you  had  been  here  a  few  days 
you  asked  him  if  he  knew  the  whereabouts  of  this 
horse,  and  he  told  you  he  had  never  heard  of  such 
a  creature.  He  said,  too,  that  you  had  tried  to  find 
out  from  Blanche." 

"When  did  he  tell  you  all  this?" 

"It  was  three — no,  it  was  four  days  ago  that  he 
told  me  about  the  horse ;  but  since  you  first  came  he 
has  been  saying  you  were  only  playing  with 
Blanche." 

"I  see !"  Carron  was  feeling  hot  and  white.  "And 
did  you  ask  him,  by  any  chance,  how  I  had  heard,  in 
the  first  place,  there  was  such  a  thing  as  this  horse?" 

"Yes.  but  he  said  he  didn't  know.  He  supposed 
that  some  one  in  the  house  must  have  told  you." 

Carron  made  a  silent  commentary  on  his  belief  in 
miracles ;  a  commentary  also  on  his  understanding  of 
the  science  of  cowards  and  of  lies.  He  had  been  a 
mere  child  in  Ferrier's  hands,  superb  in  his  confi- 
dence in  himself,  never  reckoning  how  easy  it  would 
be  for  Ferrier  to  scamp  the  story.  "Your  husband  did 
not  tell  me,"  he  said,  "if  that  is  what  Ferrier  made 

359 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

you  think.  I  knew  before  I  saw  Mr.  Rader.  What 
I  got  from  him  I  got  out  of  him  without  his  know- 
ing. I  got  it  out  of  all  of  them.  I  got  it  out  of 
Blanche  in  the  same  way ;  but  I  got  it  out  of  Ferrier 
in  the  first  place.  He  was  drunk,  and  part  of  that 
was  my  responsibility,  but  he  knew  what  we  were 
about  well  enough  when  it  came  to  the  bargain.  He 
didn't  tell  you  he  was  paid  for  it  ?  Naturally !  Loyal 
tome?  He  hasn't  been  loyal  to  any  of  us !  He — " 
Carron  saw  wide  pictures  of  memory — Ferrier  bar- 
gaining him  away  from  Raders'  by  promises  of  the 
horse ;  hailed  out  of  his  house  trembling,  reluctant  to 
fulfil  his  promise — weeping  by  the  trail  that  he  had 
been  seen  there — seen !  What  use  of  repeating  it  all. 
Mrs.  Rader  was  eying  him  challengingly.  "Then 
you  don't  deny  you  came  here  for  the  horse  ?" 
"No — it's  true  enough." 
"And  now  you  have  him." 
"Pardon  me,  how  do  you  know  that  ?" 
She  showed  a  little  trepidation,  as  if  she  felt  her- 
self advancing  into  deep  water.  "Because  I  didn't 
believe  Bert's  story.  It  sounded  like  a  made-up  tale. 
A  wild  horse  running  in  the  mountains,  that  he  knew 
about,  and  Blanche,  and  even  Mr.  Rader,  and  that 
I  had  never  heard  of !  He  wouldn't  tell  me  a  word ! 
She  flashed  an  unforgiving  glance  toward  where  the 
scholar  sat  drooping.  "But  afterward,  when  I  had 

360 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

thought  it  over,  how  strange  it  was  that  you  should 
have  come  here — a  man  like  you!  And  then  when 
you  went  away  again,  and  said  you  had  gone  hunt- 
ing, and  stayed  so  long,  I  began  to  be  afraid.  Then 
I  sent  George  out." 

He  interrupted.  "How  did  you  know  where  to 
send  him?" 

"Bert  had  told  me  the  place.  He  told  me  every- 
thing he  could  think  of  to  make  me  believe  him." 

"How  could  you  make  George  understand  ?" 

"George  is  strange.  Places  he  seems  to  remember, 
and  that  is  a  place  they  all  knew  when  they  were 
children.  Besides,  are  you  sure  he  didn't  see  you 
start  in  that  direction?  It  seems  to  me  he  must  have 
seen  something  or  I  couldn't  have  made  him  know 
what  I  meant." 

Carron  mused,  and  nodded.  "Yes,  he  may  have 
seen  something  in  the  way  of  direction,  I  remember 
now.  But  how  coujd  he  make  you  understand  what 
he  had  seen?"  He  looked  at  her  hard.  There 
was  something  equivocal  in  her  expression. 

"I — I  don't  know  how,  exactly,  but  he  did." 

"Well,  it  doesn't  matter.  I  have  got  the  horse. 
So  that's  understood,  isn't  it  ?  All  right !  Now  will 
you  tell  me  what  that  has  to  do  with  my  marrying 
your  daughter?" 

"With  your  marrying?"  She  seemed  confounded 
361 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

with  that  simple  fact  which  had  been  accepted  in  his 
mind  so  completely  that  he  thought  it  had  been  his 
intention  for  ever. 

"Yes;  didn't  she  tell  you?" 

"No — yes — at  least  she  did  say  something,  but 
Bert  said  you  had  only  let  her  think  it  because  you 
wanted — " 

"Well,  of  course!  He  would  like  to  marry  her 
himself!" 

"But  you  said  you  wanted — " 

"In  Heaven's  name,"  he  burst  out  exasperated, 
"can't  a  man  want  two  things  ?  You  seem  to  think 
it's  impossible  I  should  care  about  her.  I'd  like  to 
know  why.  She's  beautiful,  isn't  she?  She's  a  most 
extraordinary  sort  of  girl,  isn't  she?" 

He  wasn't  sure  that  Mrs.  Rader  had  taken  in  his 
revelation  of  Ferrier's  treachery,  of  his  own  double 
dealing.  But  this  fact  she  heard — heard  and  seized 
upon  the  declaration  where  her  daughter  was  con- 
cerned. That,  it  seemed,  was  the  test  of  his  charac- 
ter for  the  mother,  the  pin  upon  which  all  virtues 
hung.  Her  face  was  painful  to  see,  in  its  struggle  to 
smile,  while  the  accusing  look  still  hovered  in  eyes 
and  forehead.  She  twisted  her  hands  nervously  one 
in  the  other. 

"Oh,"  she  said;  "why  didn't  you  tell  me  before?" 

"We  told  you  as  soon  as  we  knew  ourselves  what 
362 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

we  were  about!"  The  exasperated  voice  of  youth 
spoke  from  him,  angry  at  age  who,  with  cold  blood, 
sees  so  clearly.  "At  least,"  he  added,  "she  meant  to 
tell  you  four  days  ago — the  same  day  I  told  Mr. 
Rader." 

"Has  he  known,  all  this  while?"  She  flashed  a 
glance  at  that  third  person,  sitting  forward  in  his 
chair,  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his  large  hands  hang- 
ing limp  from  the  wrists.  It  was  plain  he  was  un- 
aware of  the  conflict,  the  whirlwind  of  words  going 
on  before  him.  His  trouble,  which  was  seated  so 
plainly  in  his  eyes,  was  fixed  upon  some  circum- 
stance, remote  from  the  present,  perhaps  not  even 
spoken  by  these  two  so  bitterly  concerned. 

"He  probably  forgot  about  it,"  Carron  said  cheer- 
fully. "There's  no  harm,  but  we'll  have  to  see  that 
Ferrier  holds  his  tongue." 

She. reflected  his  returning  rush  of  spirits  with  a 
wan,  anxious  smile.  They  looked  at  each  other  like 
people  who  feel  themselves  emerging  from  a  chasm 
of  dangers  safe  into  the  air.  With  an  impetuousness 
that  was  her  daughter's  she  took  him  by  the  sleeve. 

"You  must  tell  her  what  you  have  told  me ;  make 
her  see  it  as  you  have  shown  me." 

He  held  back.    "Tell  her  what  ?" 

Still  anxious,  but  with  a  rising  confidence,  she 
supported  his  look.  "When  George  came  back  he 

363 


SON   OE  THE  WIND 

didn't  come  to  me — he  went  to  hen.  I  didn't  want 
to  tell  you  at  first,  but  of  course  she  is  the  only  one 
who  can  understand  him.  I  thought  you  understood 
that  she  has  heard  about  it." 

Carron's  knees  felt  loosened.  A  faint  cold  breath 
seemed  to  run  through  his  veins.  He  was  not  aware 
of  speaking,  or  of  even  wanting  to  speak,  but  he 
heard  a  voice  sounding  too  high  and  complaining  to 
be  his  own,  which  he  knew  was  moving  his  own 
throat. 

"Now,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  what  made  you 
meddle  in  my  affairs?" 

"It  was  her  affair  too !  I  had  to  meddle  in  it !  But 
what  difference  does  it  make  now?"  She  looked 
ready  to  laugh  at  him.  "You  will  have  to  make  her 
believe  you  love  her;  and  she  will  believe  you." 

"But  she  knows  it  now !" 

"Ah,  no,  she  doesn't,"  Mrs.  Rader  said  signifi- 
cantly. 

"What  did  she  say?" 

Rader's  voice  entered  the  conversation  suddenly. 
"She  doesn't  speak — she  doesn't  look  at  me — she 
hasn't  moved  since  she  came  back  an  hour  ago." 
From  where  he  sat  he  could  not  have  overheard 
them.  He  must  have  spoken  from  the  heart  of  his 
own  thought. 

The  words  produced  the  impression  of  a  weight 
364 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

falling,  awakening  a  silence,  "Back  from  where?" 
Carron  asked.  "Where  has  she  been  ?" 

"The  place  where  it  is,  the  canon,  the  cave,"  Mrs. 
Rader  explained.  "She  wouldn't  believe  us.  She 
wouldn't  even  believe  George.  She  went  out  there 
herself  to  see." 

To  see !  He  understood  what  those  words  meant. 
All  the  tongues  in  the.  world  could  not  have  con- 
vinced her;  but  the  sight  of  the  eyes,  that  power  to 
stir  up  passions!  Here  was  an  end  to  silence,  to 
dreaming,  to  everything  but  facts.  It  did  not  ap- 
pear to  Carron  then  that  men  had  a  part  in  the  mak- 
ing of  facts.  They  looked  entirely  the  work  of 
fate.  "Where  is  she?"  he  asked. 

"In  the  stable.  She  sits  there  just  as  she  got  of? 
the  horse."  A  slight  quiver  moved  the  mother's  lips. 
"I  can't  make  her  come  away." 

She  was  looking  to  him  to  do  that  apparently, 
since  he  had  been  the  doer  of  everything.  But  this 
stupid,  timid  woman  had  undone  the  whole.  All  his 
diplomacy  in  a  wreck,  all  he  had  hoped  to  save  for 
Blanche  in  agonizing  nerves  and  confidence,  all  pre- 
cipitated around  his  ears.  "She  will  have  to  suffer 
while  I  go  through  with  this  business,"  he  thought. 
The  confident  smile  Mrs.  Rader  wore  made  him  furi- 
ous. The  woman  had  no  idea  what  she  had  done. 
He  pulled  his  sleeve  from  her  grasp  and  walked 


quickly  out  of  the  room.  With  all  his  astonishment 
and  rage,  he  was  horribly  conscious  of  the  slipping 
past  of  the  hours.  Time,  the  enemy  of  triumph,  of 
rapture,  of  the  perfect  moment,  was  streaming  past. 
He  began  to  run. 

Past  noon,  and  rain  in  the  cloud !  He  ought  to  be 
climbing  the  Sphinx,  and  setting  foot  in  her  sacred 
window.  The  hard  floor  changed  to  strewn  pine- 
needles  beneath  his  feet,  and  a  cold  wind  blew  upon 
him.  This  instant  he  ought  to  be  on  the  ground 
with  the  captive  in  his  hands.  He  saw  his  pony 
tethered  a  rod  off.  How  easy  to  catch  stirrup  and 
away,  to  the  great  affair!  It  wouldn't  do!  Flight 
would  be  the  worst  thing  at  this  minute.  The  thought 
of  Blanche's  eyes,  meek  as  they  had  last  looked  up  at 
him,  those  eyes  drowned  in  tears  made  him  shiver. 
Over-confident,  over-sensitive  she  was.  One  could 
fancy  the  storm  of  her  weeping.  And  ugh!  how  it 
could  drench  a  man's  spirits ! 

He  dived  into  the  barn  as  into  a  cavern.  It  was 
dark,  and  echoes  followed  his  heels.  The  door  of 
the  smaller  stable  stood  ajar.  There  was  nothing 
unusual  here  that  he  could  see,  only  the  odor  of 
harness  and  fodder,  the  empty  space  of  floor,  and 
not  a  sound  except  that  of  a  horse  eating.  Looking 
into  the  stall  he  saw  the  mustang  still  saddled,  with 
his  bridle  trailing  neglected  underfoot.  A  few  steps 

366 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

farther,  and  he  perceived  a  being  his  senses  abhorred 
— boy,  imp,  or  evil  genius — sitting  on  his  heels  in  the 
shadow  of  the  wall.  His  eyes,  shining  with  a  dull, 
diffuse  light,  were  fixed  in  a  certain  direction.  Car- 
ron's  look  followed. 

She  was  sitting  on  the  lowest  stair  of  the  ascent 
to  the  loft,  and  except  for  her  gloves  and  the  whip 
she  held  in  one  hand,  she  might  have  merely  strolled 
over  from  the  house  and  stopped  here  a  moment  to 
dream.  Hard  to  believe  that  red  and  white  gown 
looking  so  woman-like  and  of  the  fireside,  had  flut- 
tered bold  in  the  face  of  the  mountains.  The  knot 
of  her  hair  had  slipped,  and,  still  twisted  with  its 
pins,  lay  on  her  neck.  A  longish  lock  escaped  and 
hung  at  her  cheek.  Her  chin  rested  on  her  hand. 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  one  certain  spot  on  the  floor. 
Her  forehead  was  smooth.  In  the  dark  light  her 
cheek  shone  like  a  pearl,  and  not  the  trace  of  a  tear. 
She  was  prettier  than  usual ;  prettier  than  ever !  Had 
the  Raders  suffered  hallucination  ?  or  had  he  ?  Every- 
thing that  had  passed  in  the  house  appeared  a  night- 
mare. He  felt  a  rush  of  astonishment  and  delight. 
"Why,  Blanche — my  dear  girl!" 

She  did  not  look  up.  His  impression  was  she  had 
not  heard  him.  Yet  he  knew  she  was  awake,  her 
eyes  open,  their  lashes  winked.  He  put  his  hand 
over  hers.  The  muscles  did  not  stiffen,  nor  show 

367 


SON   OE  XHE  iWIND 

any  consciousness  of  his  touch.  She  did  not  move. 
Her  profile  had  a  look  of  being  fixed  in  an  eternal 
attitude.  The  boy,  crouching  in  the  shadow,  seemed 
fixed  in  endless  contemplation  of  her,  watching  like 
a  dog  until  she  should  lift  her  finger;  or,  if  she  never 
lifted  it,  patiently  abiding.  Carron  hated  him.  He 
turned  his  back  on  him,  sat  down,  pushing  for  room 
on  the  step,  and  put  his  arm  around  the  girl.  Her 
breathing  made  her  insensibleness  the  more  uncanny. 
"Blanche,  what  ails  you  ?  Speak  to  me !" 

Her  lips  seemed  to  have  lost  the  consciousness  of 
everything  they  were  made  for,  speech  or  kissing. 
But  when  he  touched  her  cheek  a  shiver  passed  over 
her,  and,  as  if  she  had  felt  the  small  wing  of  an 
insect,  she  brushed  at  him.  He  turned  her  face 
toward  him  and  had  the  full  look  of  her  eyes,  wide, 
dull  and  gray.  He  could  not  tell  whether  they  saw 
him  or  not — a  strange  sensation ! 

"Blanche!"  Mrs.  Rader's  voice  broke  sharply 
upon  his  ears.  She  had  come  through  the- door,  and 
stood  now  directly  in  front  of  them.  The  smile 
that  had  exasperated  him  so  was  gone.  She  looked 
frightened.  "Why  don't  you  answer?  Don't  you 
know  it's  Mr.  Carron?" 

"Don't  you  know  me  ?"  Carron  repeated. 

Blanche  moved  her  head  with  a  jerk,  shaking  off 
his  hand.  The  concentrated  gaze  and  the  voices 

368 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

had  reached  her,  galvanizing  her  into  a  conscious- 
ness of  the  world.  She  got  up.  The  effort  of 
muscles  was  convulsive,  a  frozen  body  reawakening. 
The  motion  carried  her  to  the  middle  of  the  floor. 
She  looked  around  her.  It  was  the  impulse  for  flight. 
Her  body  was  drawn  together  for  the  dash.  Even 
now  she  did  not  appear  to  see  them,  only  to  feel  them 
as  a  pressure,  closing  in  upon  her.  When  Carron 
made  a  movement  forward  her  hands  went  to  her 
face,  pressing  her  temples  as  if  there  she  felt  the  at- 
tack most.  "Don't  come,  don't  come,"  she  said.  Her 
voice  sounded  mechanical  and  flat. 

"But  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

Staring  between  the  narrow  pent-house  of  her 
ringers,  her  gaze  fixed  upon  him,  intensified  with  the 
beginnings  of  recognition.  "Don't  speak!  I  can't 
bear  it!" 

"But  you  must !" 

"Oh-h-h!"  she  moaned,  turning  her  head  rest- 
lessly from  side  to  side  as  if  to  avoid  some  unen- 
durable vision. 

"It  is  a  bad  business,"  Carron  said  quickly.  "But 
it  is  not  what  you  were  thinking.  It  doesn't  mean 
that  things  between  us  are  any  different.  They're 
not!  I  feel  about  you  exactly  as  I  did  in  the  first 
place." 

Her  eyes,  unreassured,  were  fixed  upon  him  as 

369 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

edge  of  the  little  balcony.  No  form,  no  face,  either 
of  woman  or  spirit.  Nothing  stirred  in  the  clearing, 
nor  in  the  angle  made  by  the  outside  stair.  The 
black  likeness  of  it  which  the  moon  flung  upon  the 
ground,  was  as  deep  and  opaque  as  any  well;  but 
even  water  shows  faintly  the  forms  beneath  it.  He 
leaned  down  over  the  rail  and  spoke  her  name  under 
his  breath.  Not  a  sound  replied.  Feeling  bewitched 
he  descended  the  stair.  Reaching  the  foot  of  it, 
immediately  his  fingers  were  grasped  by  a  cool  palm 
and  he  was  drawn  into  the  shadow. 

Plunged  into  darkness  with  her  he  could  see  her. 
Her  eyes  looked  black  as  the  sky  and  radiant  with 
excitement.  The  moon  had  taken  the  color  from  her 
lips.  They  were  pale  as  an  elf's.  She  took  him  by 
both  arms  and  held  him  off  from  her,  looking  at 
him  up  and  down  with  a  bright  enigmatic  gaze ;  but 
whether  it  demanded  to  know  of  him  if  he  was  in- 
deed the  greatest  of  men  in  the  world,  or  whether 
it  only  spoke  to  him  of  the  mystery  of  night,  or  some 
mystery  beyond  the  night,  it  was  impossible  to  tell. 
She  laid  a  forbidding  finger  on  his  mouth  when  he 
would  have  kissed  her.  He  tried  to  clasp  her,  but 
slippery  as  quicksilver  she  retreated  before  him. 

"Come — this  way,"  she  murmured,  and  pulled 
him  after  her. 

Half  running  he  followed,  keeping  close  under 
270 


THE    MIDDLE   OF   THE    NIGHT 

the  piazza  rail  where  the  only  shadow  extended  was 
a  narrow  band  like  a  ribbon,  past  the  steps  where 
the  first  night  she  appeared  to  him  as  an  arm  ex- 
tended out  of  darkness,  and  round  the  corner  of  the 
old  wing,  coming  out  before  the  front  of  the  greater 
house. 

"Where  are  we  going?"  he  whispered. 

"Sh-h-h!"  She  clung  to  the  wall,  holding  them 
both  still,  listening.  It  was  only  the  owl  that  had 
spoken.  She  put  her  lips  close  to  Carron's  ear. 
"Follow  me  around  the  edge  of  the  clearing.  Do 
exactly  as  I  do.  Don't  speak." 

The  hotel  with  all  its  windows  looked  blank  and 
dead  as  the  face  of  a  rock.  It  buttressed  them  from 
the  live  part  of  the  house.  In  its  shelter  she  ran 
fearlessly,  but  with  remarkably  light  noiseless  steps, 
and  slipped  into  the  trees  on  the  left  side  of  the 
drive.  Here  he  had  ado  to  keep  her  in  sight.  Now 
the  white  back  of  a  neck  gleamed,  now  a  hand  shone, 
laid  an  instant  against  a  tree  trunk;  but  chiefly  he 
tracked  her  as  an  animated  shadow  gliding  rapidly 
among  shadows  that  were  still,  and  leaving  a  waving 
of  branches  in  its  wake.  She  slid  down  the  bank 
with  a  cascading  of  earth  into  the  road  just  at  the 
point  where  it  turned  from  the  clearing  to  descend 
the  hill;  and  they  stood  together  in  the  same  place 
where  Carron  and  Ferrier  had  stood  that  morning. 

271 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

that  statement.  He  had  to  drag  the  words  out  of  his 
throat.  She  stood  looking  imploringly  at  him  as  if 
what  he  demanded  of  her  was  hard  for  her. 

"It  wasn't  done  in  cold  blood ;  part  was  done  be- 
fore I  even  saw  you,  and  after  I  saw  the  horse  I 
give  you  my  word  I  hardly  knew  what  I  was  doing ! 
I  forgot  how  you  would  feel!"  He  put  his  arm 
around  her  and  pulled  her  toward  him.  Her  body, 
tense  as  a  bow,  strained  away  from  him ;  but  just  the 
grasp  of  her,  having  her  again  tangibly  his  own, 
faintly  responsive  in  spite  of  herself,  was  comfort 
enough  after  the  ugly  moments  of  separation. 
"Come,"  he  entreated,  "it's  for  you  to  be  generous! 
Be  good  to  me !  Forgive !" 

She  trembled  reluctant,  but  as  if  the  contact  was 
too  much  for  reason  she  pressed  her  cheek  against 
his.  "I  can't  bear  to  have  that  word  spoken  between 
us !  I  don't  want  to  forgive  you.  I'd  much  rather 
have  you  forgive  me.  I  want  to  have  you  right,  al- 
ways, always,  beyond  anything  I  could  say !" 

The  words  poured  into  his  ear  in  a  half  whisper, 
her  breath  sweet  and  close  upon  his  face,  like  the 
touching  of  lips.  He  adored  the  humility,  the  heav- 
enly abnegation,  the  forgiving  of  transgression — the 
beautiful  fit  attitude  for  women.  Since  his  man- 
hood had  stiffened  in  him  he  had  not  known  tears; 
but  now  he  felt  them  forcing  up  into  his  eyes.  "Mv 

372 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

dear,  you'll  have  to  take  me  as  I  am,  an  ordinary  fel- 
low." 

She  sighed,  and  the  sigh  seemed  to  take  possession 
of  her  whole  body,  shivering  from  breast  to  finger- 
tips. "But,  if  you  had  only  told  me  first!" 

"Yes,  but  if  I  had  ?  You  would  never  have  let  me 
come  near  it !" 

"Ah,  no !  and  that  would  have  been  so  much  bet- 
ter! It  would  have  saved  us  all  this  suffering.  It 
would  have  saved  him  too." 

"Yes— but— " 

"I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say."  She  leaned 
her  head  back  to  look  up  earnestly  in  his  face.  "But 
it  will  not  be  the  same  with  him  again,  any  more 
than  it  will  be  the  same  with  us.  There'll  be  that 
difference  always  with  him  for  being  caught  once, 
even  if  always  afterward  he  is  free." 

Carron's  hold  on  her  relaxed.  "You  don't  expect 
me  to  let  him  go  again,  do  you  ?" 

He  could  feel  her  fingers  that  had  grasped  his 
arms  with  such  energy  growing  limp  on  his  sleeve. 
Her  eyes,  growing  cold,  were  fixed  on  his;  all  the 
woman,  body  and  mind,  suddenly  deprived  of  mo- 
tion. "You're  not  going  to  keep  him,"  she  said,  and 
let  the  end  of  the  sentence  fall  as  if  that  fact  had 
been  fixed  before  the  world  began. 

"But  I  have  him!"  Carron  objected.     He  was 

373 


SON   OF.   THE   WIND 

astonished  that  she  did  not  see  the  argument  there, 
how  perfectly  achievement  gives  the  right  to  hold. 
That  had  been  the  fixed  sign  of  his  life.  He  never 
doubted  it.  The  comprehension  of  what  she  ex- 
pected of  him,  the  full  height  of  it,  shot  up  before 
him,  and  he  laughed.  "Turn  him  loose  again  now  ? 
That's  too  much  to  ask  of  any  man !" 

"But  you  said — "  She  looked  bewildered,  a  lost 
traveler,  stumbling  in  a  dark  continent.  "You  said 
it  was  a  bad  business.  You  said  it  was  all  wrong — 
that  you  hadn't  known  what  you  were  doing —  You 
asked  me  to  forgive  you !" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  he  explained  patiently,  wondering 
how  she  could  be  so  stupid.  "But  that  was  for  not 
telling  you  what  I  had  done,  deceiving  you,  if  you 
like  to  call  it  that — not  for  taking  the  horse.  There's 
nothing  wrong  with  that." 

"There  is,  there  is!"  Her  voice,  without  rising, 
gave  a  powerful  sense  of  the  rising  tide  of  will.  A 
flush  covered  her  face  like  a  cloud,  and  in  the  middle 
of  that  her  eyes  looked  pale  and  bright.  "He  isn't 
meant  to  be  tame !  He  must  not  be !  He  can't  be !" 

"Now,  my  dear  girl,"  he  broke  in,  "we've  had  all 
that  out  before,  and  it's  absurd.  I  am  not  going  to 
lose  the  thing  I  came  here  for,  and  have  gone 
through  God  knows  what  to  come  at,  because  you 
have  a  notion  or  a  dream." 

374 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

In  the  pause  he  was  aware  of  the  close  odor  of  the 
stable  stuffing  his  nostrils.  He  heard  the  mustang 
eating  steadily,  and  the  stumble  as  the  creature 
caught  its  foot  in  the  trailing  bridle.  He  heard 
above  his  head,  somewhere  higher  up  than  the  roof 
of  the  place,  a  restless  rushing  like  the  audible 
passing  of  the  hours.  Beneath  his  eyes  the  girl's 
face  appeared  a  silvery  oval,  most  curiously  quiet 
except  that  her  hand  was  pressed  against  her  throat, 
and  queer  little  convulsive  movements  disturbed  her 
mouth. 

"You  asked  me  to  be  good  to  you,"  she  said  sud- 
denly. "You  asked  me  to  be  generous ;  you  said  you 
loved  me.  Be  good  to  me  now.  Be  generous  to  me ! 
Show  me  that  what  you  said  is  true.  Even  if  you 
can't  understand  why  I  want  it,  just  because  I  want 
it  so  much,  because  it  means  everything  to  me,  let 
him  go." 

"But,  there  is  no  reason  in  it !"  he  burst  out. 

"Reason?"  she  said  in  a  voice  that  threw  reason 
into  the  pit. 

"Yes,  reason.  You  are  talking  about  something 
you  don't  understand.  You  think  this  is  a  brutal 
business,  but  it  is  nothing  of  the  sort.  It  isn't  bron- 
cho-busting. It's  the  best,  most  humane  way  ever 
invented  for  handling  horses.  It's  my  way!"  He 
offered  that  as  the  final  argument  not  to  be  doubted. 

375 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

"You  saw  him  at  the  wrong  time.  They  all  look 
their  worst  when  they  are  first  caught !" 

She  shivered,  and  hung  back  from  him,  but  he 
held  her  fast  by  the  arms. 

"Wait,  wait,  give  me  half  a  chance.  I'll  show  you 
how  beautiful  he'll  be  when  I  get  through  with  him." 

With  a  wrench  she  got  herself  free.  He  had  held 
her  so  fast  he  didn't  know  how  she  had  managed, 
but  suddenly  there  was  a  fighting  creature  in  his 
arms;  then  all  that  remained  of  her  to  touch  was 
a  bit  of  red  and  white  from  her  sleeve.  There  she 
was,  standing  at  a  distance  from  him — distance  be- 
tween them,  and  she  as  strange  as  another  world! 
All  his  conscious  blood  was  hot  with  her  repulsion 
of  him.  She  had  forgiven  him.  This  brutal  dissen- 
sion of  will  had  sprung  upon  him  unawares,  trans- 
forming her.  "Are  you  going  to  let  him  go?" 

The  metallic  tone  calling  him  up  to  judgment 
rasped  on  his  tight  nerves.  "No !"  he  almost  shouted 
the  word.  "I'm  going  to  break  him — do  you  under- 
stand ? — to  break  him !" 

She  closed  her  fingers  on  the  light  whip  she  still 
held,  as  if  it  were  as  much  as  she  could  do  to  keep 
from  bringing  it  down  on  his  head.  Her  face  was 
bleak.  The  high  bridge  of  the  nose  looked  higher 
than  usual  and  sharp.  All  the  pretty  mirage  of  ten- 
derness had  melted,  all  vision  of  themselves  as  lovely 

376 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

bodies  invested  with  radiant  intentions.  They  looked 
at  each  other,  and  knew  each  other  over  again  from 
the  beginning,  people  of  jealous  conceit,  without 
charity,  with  passionate  wills  for  their  own  predilec- 
tions, born  enemies,  who  had  thought  themselves 
lovers.  Her  lips  tightened  without  a  smile,  showing 
a  flash  of  teeth.  "You  can't !"  she  said. 

The  words  struck  him  like  a  flat  palm  in  the  face. 
"Don't  you  teach  me  what  I  can  or  can't  do,"  he 
said  hardily.  "I  know  my  business,  and  it  isn't  a 
woman's  business."  He  emphasized  each  word  with 
a  nod  of  his  head.  "You  keep  out  of  it !" 

Her  eyes  opened  wide  as  if  to  take  in  to  the  full 
the  altered  condition  confronting  her.  Like  a  woman 
confronted  by  her  rival,  recognizing  a  greater  power, 
she  felt  her  own  breaking.  "Yes,  yes,  yes!"  The 
words  came  from  her  in  a  wail  more  of  fury  than 
of  sorrow.  "I'll  keep  out  of  it !  I  will  never  see  that 
again !  I'll  not  see  you  again !  Never  in  all  my  life !" 
She  made  a  wild  gesture  of  hands,  sweeping  every- 
thing away  from  her. 

"Of  course,  you'll  see  me  again,"  he  said,  indig- 
nant, thinking  she  impugned  his  honor.  "I  shall  be 
back  to-morrow." 

Planted  there  in  front  of  them  she  appeared  as  im- 
movable as  marble.  With  a  last  passionate  outburst 
all  feeling  in  her  seemed  to  have  spent  itself.  "Once 

377 


SON    OF   THE   .WIND 

you  are  out  of  here,  don't  come  back."  He  looked  at 
her  in  stupefaction.  What  she  was  saying  seemed 
to  him  ridiculous,  "I  will  never  see  you  again,"  she 
said.  "I  wish  you  had  died  before  I  had  seen  you, 
before  you  had  done  all  this  harm." 

"Blanche!"  Mrs.  Rader's  voice  drove  into  the 
conflict.  The  appearance  of  her,  as  if  out  of  no- 
where, with  her  loosened  hair,  and  the  drapery  of 
her  blown  shawl,  was  like  a  warning  apparition,  a 
figure  that  had  been  carried  there  by  the  wind. 

"You  don't  know  what  you  are  saying !"  she  cried 
at  her  daughter.  "What  is  the  horse  to  you,  or  fifty 
like  it?  What  is  that  to  you  beside  the  man  you 
want  ?" 

The  girl  looked  at  her.  "I  don't  want  him,"  she 
said  in  her  monotonous  voice.  "He's  not  mine.  I 
don't  know  him.  I  have  never  even  heard  of  him." 

"Don't  be  a  fool !"  Mrs.  Rader  said.  The  words 
came  out  with  a  dry  sound,  almost  with  a  smile. 
"You  know  him  as  well  as  any  woman  can.  You 
think  you  have  been  badly  used,"  she  went  on  with 
increasing  bitterness,  "you  think  you're  suffering, 
you  think  this  is  the  end  of  everything.  It's  nothing 
— it's  only  the  beginning!  You'll  forgive  worse 
things  than  this  before  you're  through,  and  you'll  be 
glad  to  do  it.  I  tell  you  a  year  after  you're  mar- 
ried the  horse  will  be  nothing  to  you,  and  every- 

373 


THE    SUPERB    MOMENT 

thing  you  ever  thought  or  wanted  when  you  were  a 
girl  will  be  like  a  dream.  But  you'll  remember  this 
man  all  your  life,  and  you'll  be  sorry  all  your  life  if 
you  let  him  go !" 

As  well  have  spoken  to  the  winds,  or  Son  of  the 
Wind  himself,  leaping  against  the  barrier. 

"See  what  you've  done  to  her !"  the  woman  cried, 
turning  to  Carron.  "Why  weren't  you  careful? 
Why  didn't  you  make  it  easy  for  her?  Now,  there'll 
be  no  stopping,  there'll  be  no  changing  her.  Speak 
to  her !"  she  entreated.  "Blanche,  listen  to  him !" 

The  contending  voices  beating  on  Carron's  ears 
seemed  to  be  holding  him  back.  He  heard  words, 
but  did  not  hear  their  significance,  only  felt  the 
force  behind  them,  a  tremendous  inflated  opposi- 
tion to  him.  He  wanted  to  lift  his  arms  and  dash 
down  the  clamor  that  was  heaping  up  around  him. 
If  only  they  would  wait,  just  wait,  with  all  their 
demands  and  questions,  whicfc  were  nothing  but 
words,  only  words  in  the  air,  until  the  great  action 
was  complete.  Then  there  could  be  time  in  plenty 
for  talk.  He  thought  he  spoke  this  to  them,  he 
thought  he  said  they  would  have  all  night  to  settle 
their  questions  in,  but  for  this  business  of  his  there 
was  not  an  hour  to  waste,  not  a  minute.  Yet  he  was 
not  sure  what  he  had  spoken.  He  did  not  even  re- 
member afterward  how  he  left  the  women,  nor 

379 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

at  the  moment  of  his  going,  which  might  have  been 
the  last  time  he  was  to  see  those  two  faces,  how  the 
faces  had  looked.  There,  memory  was  blank,  as  it  is 
sometimes  at  crises,  when  the  intense  sensations  of 
the  soul  obliterate  the  vision.  He  heard  his  feet 
hurrying  muffled  upon  the  earth.  He  heard  over  his 
head,  more  clearly  now,  the  audible  rushing  past  of 
the  hours.  It  was  indeed  the  sound  of  the  wind,  ris- 
ing and  traveling  in  the  pines  above  him. 


380 


CHAPTER  XVI 


ALAS,  for  the  superb  moment !  His  high  mood 
that  had  set  him  alone  at  the  head  of  the  world 
was  broken.  He  was  no  longer  driving  men  and 
mountains,  and  the  unconscious  forces  of  the  earth 
like  linked  horses.  He  was  being  driven  himself. 
He  was  running  from  something;  yet,  in  fact,  he 
was  only  hurrying  toward  the  thing  he  wanted.  All 
the  opposition  had  amounted  to  nothing.  He  had 
gone  through  it  head  down.  Would  he  never  get 
past  it  ?  Never  shake  off  the  effect  of  it  ?  He  was  al- 
ready far  on  his  way.  He  tried  to  look  forward,  to 
think  of  what  was  awaiting  him,  but  persistently  his 
thought  rushed  back  to  the  scene  behind  him.  It 
came  to  him  at  first  not  as  a  scene,  but  with  the  mem- 
ory of  the  nerves  which  still  felt  in  their  hot  cur- 
rent the  echoes  of  the  women's  voices,  strained 
high  in  excitement.  Those  sensations  of  irritation, 
bewilderment  and  confoundment,  that  had  rushed 
upon  him  then,  instead  of  diminishing,  were  grow- 
ing heavier,  stifling  reason;  and  from  under  their 


SON    OF   THE    WIND 

cloud  he  felt  intermittently  the  breath  of  a  hotter 
feeling,  a  burning  sense  of  injury — of  cruel  injus- 
tice. Through  the  thick  eddy  of  emotions,  fragments 
of  vision — half  memories — began  to  flash  upon  him : 
certain  looks  of  that  girl's ;  certain  words ;  the  quick 
drawing  back  of  lips  on  the  teeth;  "You  can't!" 
flung  at  him  like  a  gauntlet. 

What  did  the  woman  think  he  was  made  for? 
His  smoldering  thoughts  burst  into  flame.  "You 
can't!"  rapped  out  on  him  on  the  edge  of  success. 
The  words  were  as  little  as  a  needle  point,  yet  they 
denied  him,  and  everything  he  was,  and  wanted  to  be. 
Why  hadn't  she  fought  him,  heaped  him  with  re- 
proaches, given  him  something  to  contend  with?  But 
this  infernal  turning  her  back  on  him,  and  closing 
her  eyes!  She  did  not  know  him — she  couldn't  see 
him — she  had  never  heard  of  him !  He  was  suffer- 
ing. Vanity  proclaimed  itself  shrieking,  but  some 
spirit  deeper  in  him  wept, — the  ego,  the  pervading 
possessing  presence  men  call  the  soul,  which  is  for 
ever  looking  for  itself  in  some  form  outside  of  it- 
self, foredoomed  to  disenchantment.  Where  was  the 
mind  which  had  had  no  thought  that  was  not  for 
him  ?  The  face  that  had  been  like  a  rose,  now  white, 
now  red?  It  was  all  an  immense  fraud  practised,  a 
soft-looking  surface  that,  at  the  first  blow,  rang  iron. 

Her  face,  as  he  had  seen  it  last,  rose  clear  in 
382 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

memory,  bleak  and  white,  locked  lips,  deaf  ears,  im- 
placable eyes ;  a  mind  fixed  with  devouring  pity  upon 
itself.  Hateful  to  think  of!  There  was  not  an  eye- 
lash of  hers,  a  glance,  or  an  inch  of  her  finger  that 
he  did  not  hate.  Anything  to  make  her  turn  again 
and  look  at  him — if  not  with  worship  at  least  with 
fear.  Any  way  of  beating  down  the  wall  of  stub- 
bornness, even  to  breaking  her  with  it,  if  only  he 
could  make  her  see  what  he  meant.  Words  would 
never  show.  He  might  clamor  at  her  with  words  for 
ever.  The  exploit  was  the  thing  to  speak :  to  appear 
before  her  with  his  adventure  achieved;  with  the 
spoil  in  his  hands.  That  would  be  the  unanswerable 
argument.  Everything  would  be  justified  by  ac- 
complishment! He  wanted  it  accomplished  now — 
instantly.  It  was  unendurable  he  could  not  turn  on 
them  this  moment  in  his  triumph.  There  was  all  the 
journey  first,  and  the  struggle — an  hour,  two  hours, 
the  afternoon,  when  a  minute  was  too  long  for  him. 
He  rode  headlong.  The  Sphinx  rose  in  front  of  him 
no  longer  a  sphinx,  only  a  high  and  senseless  mass 
of  stone  between  himself  and  his  object.  No  mys- 
tery looked  upon  him,  from  her  forehead,  nor  whis- 
pered to  him  in  the  window  at  her  ear.  She  had  be- 
come to  him  the  common  path  by  which  he  reached 
his  goal.  He  scaled  her,  reckless  in  his  haste,  risking 
his  life  on  her  cruel  breast;  and,  descending  on  the 

383 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

other  side,  came  under  shadows  of  pines,  heard  the 
thin  voice  of  the  river,  and  began  to  run. 

Presently  the  ford  came  into  sight,  and  in  the 
opening  of  the  trees  the  outline  of  a  figure.  It  was 
Esmeralda  Charley,  standing,  shading  his  eyes  with 
his  hand.  Carron  came  up  to  him  panting.  The 
surrounding,  and  the  expectation  it  aroused  in  him 
were  having  their  effect.  Weariness,  wrath,  aching 
nerves,  wrung  by  the  twist  circumstance  had  given 
him  at  the  last,  were  beginning  to  lose  consciousness 
of  themselves  in  a  blaze  of  excitement.  Abreast  his 
man  he  stopped.  He  drew  out  his  watch  mechani- 
cally and  looked  at  it.  Half-past  two.  "Well?"  he 
asked,  "how  is  it?" 

"I  can't  drive  him,"  said  Esmeralda  Charley. 

The  words  dashed  counter  to  Carron's  thoughts. 
"What's  that?"  he  said.  "What's  the  matter?" 

"I  don't  know,"  the  vaquero  replied  without  emo- 
tion. "He  won't  drive — not  like  any  I  ever  saw." 

"You  mean  he  doesn't  move  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  he  moves — but  the  way  he  thinks — like 
that,  like  that !"  With  his  fingers  he  illustrated  all 
directions. 

Carron  stared.  He  had  never  seen  so  much  elo- 
quence in  the  fellow.  "Did  you  try  him  with  the 
mares?" 

"He  doesn't  follow." 

384 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

The  horse-breaker  glanced  at  the  corral.  At  the  in- 
stant he  looked  no  horses  were  in  sight,  but  while 
he  looked  the  chestnut  mare  broke  from  the  trees 
and  trotted  across  the  enclosure  whinnying  with 
high  head.  She  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  water  look- 
ing over  the  stockade  at  the  two  men.  She  had  al- 
most a  human  air  of  being  puzzled. 

"I'll  show  you,"  the  half-breed  said. 

Carron  followed  him  across  the  ford,  and  through 
the  trees.  On  every  side  were  the  signs  of  what  he 
had  carried  out,  the  print  of  himself  in  the  footsteps 
on  the  ground,  in  the  strong  sides  of  the  corral  of 
which  he  had  glimpses  between  branches.  They 
turned  sharply  to  the  left,  and  coming  into  a  little 
break  in  the  timber  stood  at  the  gate  and  looked  over 
it  at  what  was  within. 

At  this  upper  end  of  the  enclosure  were  the  few 
groups  of  pines  that  had  helped  to  conceal  the  begin- 
ning of  the  canvas.  Here,  pressed  in  among  the 
trunks  of  the  trees,  not  lying  on  the  ground,  yet 
scarcely  standing  upright,  he  saw  his  captive. 

He  saw  for  a  flash  with  that  rare  impartial  eye 
which  perceives  the  thing  neither  as  it  has  been  nor 
as  hope  expects  it  will  be,  but  as  it  is  in  fact,  at  the 
moment.  He  saw  Son  of  the  Wind  already 
marked  by  captivity,  soiled  with  earth,  stained  with 
sweat,  sick  with  defiance.  He  felt  as  a  hunter  who 

385 


has  taken  an  eagle.  What  had  caught  desire  was  the 
proud  flight  in  the  air.  It  was  that  the  man  wanted 
to  possess;  and  lo,  fierce  eyes  and  a  heap  of  fury  in 
a  cage.  There  was  a  lost  quality  somewhere, — the 
quality  that  had  most  lured  possession  was  lost.  Ah, 
if  ever  that  could  be  captured,  too!  Carron  thought 
lie  could  understand  the  meaning  of  Heaven.  Yet 
what  a  body,  just  as  it  stood  there !  What  a  flow  of 
muscles  under  the  skin !  What  a  threat  in  the  immo- 
bility! His  hopes  shot  up  like  fire.  His  eye,  busy 
with  outward  things,  thought  something  unexpected 
in  the  prospect  before  him.  He  turned  angrily  to 
the  half-breed.  "Why  didn't  you  drive  him  into  the 
open  as  I  told  you,  and  put  up  that  canvas  in  front 
of  the  trees?  How  do  you  think  we  can  lasso  him 
in  that  thicket  ?" 

"I  could  not  get  him  out.  He  would  not  move.  I 
could  not  charge  him  in  the  trees." 

"You  never  ought  to  have  let  him  get  in  there  in 
the  first  place." 

"I  could  not  drive  him/'  the  half-breed  answered 
unmoved.  "He  ran  at  me,  or  he  ran  past  me ;  and  I 
had  no  one  to  help." 

"Yes,  you  had.  You  had  that  fellow !" 

"Oh,  him !"  The  man  lifted  his  shoulders  a  little. 
"He  went  away." 

"Went  away?" 

386 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

"Yes,  over  there,  into  the  trees,  running.  He  went 
when  the  woman  came." 

"Oh!"  Carron  muttered.  "Oh,  yes,  yes — yes,  of 
course,"  he  repeated  vaguely.  He  looked  at  Esme- 
ralda  Charley  hesitatingly  as  if  he  had  suddenly  for- 
gotten what  he  was  saying.  He  tried  to  gather  his 
wits  together  and  go  on  with  it,  but  one  thought 
stood  large  before  him  and  blotted  out  everything 
else.  It  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  business  in  hand, 
yet  in  spite  of  himself  the  question  was  on  his  lips. 
"What  did  she  do?"  he  asked. 

The  half-breed  was  holding  a  match  to  the  end  of 
his  cigarette.  "She  came  around  here  where  we  are 
standing  now." 

"Yes,  of  course — but  did  she  go  inside?  Did  she 
try  to  get  near  him?  Did  she  try  to — to — " 

The  man  made  a  scornful  negative  motion  of  the 
head.  "She  stood  like  this."  He  stiffened  himself. 
"She  looked  at  him  as  long  as  this" — he  waved  the 
match  back  and  forth  once  in  the  air.  "Then  she 
mourned." 

"Mourned?" 

"Like  women  for  the  dead,"  Esmeralda  Charley 
explained,  throwing  the  match  away.  "She  put  her 
face  there  where  your  hand  is  now.  She  covered  her 
head  and  mourned." 

Carron  looked  at  the  spot  to  which  the  half-breed 

387 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

pointed,  the  place  where  his  hand  lay  on  the  rail; 
suddenly  he  let  go  as  if  the  wood  had  burnt  him. 
"Stiffen  that  top  timber,"  he  said.  "It  is  weak." 
Some  emotion  that  he  couldn't  account  for  took  him 
by  the  throat,  strangling  him,  threatening  for  a  mo- 
ment to  master  him.  "Where  is  the  canvas?"  he  said 
as  soon  as  he  could  gather  voice. 

The  half-breed  pointed  to  where  it  lay,  at  one  side 
of  the  trail. 

"Very  well.  Get  me  a  blanket  from  camp — a  red 
one.  Where's.  Jim?"  He  looked  behind  him.  He 
had  not  thought  of  the  peon  since  he  had  left  Ra- 
ders',  but  here  he  was  a  yard  from  his  heel,  waiting. 
"Get  the  lassos  up  here  right  away.  I  want  the  ropes 
and  the  saddle,  too.  Jim  can  help  you.  Well,  what 
are  you  standing  there  for?"  He  swung  around 
ready  with  a  blow.  "How  are  we  to  get  through,  do 
you  think?" 

Esmeralda  Charley  ran  on  his  errand;  Carron 
looked  after  him.  Why,  the  fellow  had  hesitated. 
He  had  lo'oked  as  if  he  found  something  strange. 
Strange,  good  Lord!  There  was  nothing  strange 
about  Carron.  There  was  nothing  strange  about 
Carron's  giving  orders.  But  it  was  strange  that  any 
one  should  hesitate  to  carry  them  out.  Why,  what 
were  these  for,  but  to  do  as  he  said?  Or  he,  if  in 
this  case,  he  did  not  know  what  he  was  saying?  His 

388 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

throat  was  dry.  He  took  a  swallow  of  water  from 
his  canteen,  threw  the  bottle  on  the  ground,  and 
threw  off  hat  and  coat.  He  gathered  up  the  canvas 
and  the  poles,  and,  staggering,  carried  them  and 
flung  them  down  inside  the  enclosure,  at  the  edge  of 
the  trees.  There  was  the  half-breed  coming  back 
again,  still  with  that  expression  on  his  face,  a  lurking 
question,  a  doubt  of  what  was  being  done.  The  sec- 
ond vaquero  followed.  The  ropes  and  lassos  were 
over  his  arms,  across  his  shoulders,  around  his  neck, 
more  than  enough  for  a  hangman.  Last  into  the  en- 
closure, he  slid  the  gates  shut. 

"Be  ready  with  that  stuff,  to  begin  putting  it  up 
as  soon  as  I  get  him  out  into  the  open,"  the  horse- 
breaker  said.  He  took  the  blanket  from  Esmeralda 
Charley,  and  keeping  close  to  the  canvas  wall,  made 
a  little  circuit  to  the  upper  side  of  the  enclosure. 
Here,  with  his  back  to  the  gate,  he  had  the  length  of 
the  corral  before  him,  sloping  a  little  to  the  water. 
It  would  have  been  an  easy  place  down  which  to 
stampede  an  army,  were  it  not  for  the  trees  directly 
in  front.  He  dodged  here  and  there,  peering  for  an 
opening.  The  mares  at  the  lower  end  of  the  corral 
moved  nervously  while  he  moved,  but  the  stallion 
did  not  stir.  That  was  strange.  The  slightest  move- 
ment in  the  stockade  was  usually  enough  to  set  all 
the  wild  ones  in  a  flicker.  Ah,  at  last  he  had  what 

389 


SON    OF   THE    WIND 

he  had  been  looking  for.  From  a  certain  angle  the 
obscuring  glimmer  of  trunks  and  branches  fell  away 
into  a  narrow  open  prospect,  a  sort  of  aisle  through 
the  trees.  At  the  end  of  it  he  saw  Son  of  the  Wind 
facing  him  with  head  held  low. 

Carron  whirled  the  blanket  above  his  head,  and 
charged  with  a  shout.  The  horse  stood  for  an  un- 
canny minute,  when  the  man  felt  as  if  he  were 
charging  an  image.  There  was  only  a  rod  between 
them  when  the  animal  wheeled  and  broke.  He  went 
with  leaps  across  the  open,  toppling  forward  as  if 
every  bound  would  fling  him,  sullenly,  with  a  strange 
reluctance,  a  fear  of  the  open  that  was  greater  than 
his  fear  of  the  man.  At  the  water's  edge,  he  faced 
about,  dazed  to  find  himself  there,  to  realize  the 
covert  of  trees  so  far  behind.  Carron  saw  the  white 
of  the  eyes,  the  white  of  the  teeth,  the  sharp  edge  of 
hoofs,  felt  the  threatened  charge,  and  charged  first 
himself. 

He  heard  the  sounds  behind  him  of  the  men  driv- 
ing the  posts  home.  He  ran  back  an4  forth  with 
cries,  keeping  the  scarlet  folds  flying  above  his  head, 
keeping  the  creature  in  recoil,  half  backed  into  the 
water.  Triumph  was  rising  in  £im.  Presently  be- 
hind his  back  he  heard  the  half-breed  call.  He 
knew  what  that  meant.  "All  right,"  he  replied,  but 
did  not  look  behind  him.  Now  that  he  had  the  ani- 

390 


mal  in  his  power,  the  horse-breaker's  instinct  was 
strong  to  hold  him  there.  Even  with  the  barrier 
raised  he  did  not  mean  to  let  his  captive  out  of  the 
corner,  except  by  the  way  that  he  should  determine. 
He  made  a  feint  to  charge  from  the  front,  swerved 
before  the  horse  could  swerve  and  darted  at  him  on 
the  flank,  setting  him  off  toward  the  left,  plunging 
around  the  side  of  the  corral.  No  need  to  drive  him 
now.  He  was  flying  for  his  covert  of  trees,  three  legs 
playing  the  part  of  four,  wallowing  like  a  hulk  in 
the  trough  of  the  sea,  gathering  himself  when  it 
seemed  that  he  must  be  down ;  then,  abreast  the  can- 
vas, swerving  with  a  snort  of  terror.  Around  he 
went,  with  head  flung  up  at  the  barrier,  through 
which  or  over  which  he  could  not  see.  No  trees,  no 
hiding-place  left,  only  the  high  white  blank  circle 
around  him,  and  rock  underfoot.  His  pace  grew 
slower.  He  ran  in  a  smaller  circle,  and  stopped. 

"How  about  that?"  Carron  demanded,  in  an  ec- 
stasy of  admiration  for  himself.  "Here,  Charley, 
drive  those  mares  down  here.  We've  got  to  get  them 
out  of  the  way.  Open  the  gate,  Jim — wait  until  they 
get  close — now !" 

The  flap  of  canvas  slipped  to  let  the  chestnut  and 
her  companion  through,  and  closed  again.  Esmeralda 
Charley  stood  looking  at  his  employer  silently.  If 
there  had  ever  been  an  expression  on  his  face  it  was 

391 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

there  now  in  a  faint  shadow  of  anxiety.  "You  going 
to  break  him  to-morrow  ?"  he  inquired. 

To-morrow?  Was  there  such  a  thing  as  to- 
morrow? "I'm  going  to  break  him,"  Carron  an- 
swered, "as  soon  as  Jim  gets  inside  the  corral  with 
the  ropes." 

"The  second  day  you  never  break,"  the  man  in- 
sisted. "You  break  the  third  day.  No  snow  before 
the  third  day.  Why  not  break  then  ?" 

Carron  didn't  know  why  not,  except  that  to  the 
fierce  immediacy  of  his  expectations  there  was  no 
future.  Time  was  not  a  thing  outside  of  him,  pass- 
ing him.  He  held  it  in  his  hands.  "I  say  to-day — 
you  understand?  I  break  him  when  I  like."  He 
pulled  his  belt  closer,  and  felt  to  make  sure  his  spurs 
were  tight.  "Bring  the  ropes,"  he  called  over  his 
shoulder,  and  walked  a  few  steps  farther  toward 
Son  of  the  Wind. 

The  horse  stood  canted  forward  as  if  overbal- 
anced by  the  great  weight  of  his  chest,  his  feet 
spread,  head  hanging,  muzzle  touching  the  ground. 
The  dust  trembled  with  his  breath.  He  was  shorn 
of  his  beauty.  He  was  no  longer  a  thing  of  outline 
and  undulation.  He  was  mass  and  weight ;  thickness 
— yes,  it  was  that — and  power.  Menace  emanated 
from  the  motionless  body,  promise  of  infinite  re- 
sources of  strength;  strength  that  might  be  even  be- 

392 


SON   OF   THE   WIND 

yond  a  man's  control.  Had  Carron  admitted  such  a 
thing  possible  ?  No,  he  hadn't  admitted,  but  the  idea 
had  caught  him  before  he  had  foreseen  it.  There  it 
was.  Could  a  man  mount  and  bridle  the  wind  ?  A 
strange  little  thought  touched  him.  He  had  never 
had  such  a  thought  in  all  his  life.  To  die?  Was 
that  what  Blanche  had  meant  when  she  had 
said  "You  can't?"  Then  of  course  he  could  not  go 
back  to  her.  That  would  be  strange!  There  had 
never  been  a  moment  when  he  had  not  expected  to 
go  back  to  her.  His  brain  had  not  been  able  to  take 
in  the  idea  of  an  end  to  what  was  between  them, 
not  even  when  she  had  screamed  those  wild  things 
after  him,  not  even  when  he  had  hated  her.  But  to 
die!  That  was  an  end  he  could  understand.  He 
had  seen  other  men  die,  backs  or  necks  broken.  He 
looked  hard  at  the  thought  of  himself  in  such  case 
and  found  it  didn't  trouble  him.  It  was  a  ghost  be- 
side the  beautiful  reality  of  adventure. 

There  was  no  difference  in  the  casting  of  a  lasso 
for  the  least  of  horses,  or  the  greatest.  The  rope 
sang  just  so,  like  a  long  snake  through  the  dust. 
The  ankle  it  caught  was  as  small  as  a  woman's,  but 
the  body  leaping  and  falling  was  a  thing  to  remem- 
ber. The  sight  stopped  the  breath  with  admiration. 
Both  ropes,  one  from  either  side  of  the  corral, 
stretched  tight  in  a  quivering  line,  straining  out  the 

393 


SON   OE  THE   WIND 

forefoot  and  hindfoot,  kept  the  creature  prone;  but 
a  ripple  passed  continuously  down  the  back;  the 
shoulders  heaved,  the  muscles  on  the  neck  swelled 
as  the  head  struggled  to  lift  itself.  Carron's  brows 
were  deep  in  a  frown.  He  had  watched  with  phil- 
osophic eyes  many  horses  flung  agonizing  and  ter- 
rified, but  this  was  his  darling,  his  one  of  all.  He 
hated  to  see  that  beautiful  body  wrestling  in  the 
dust.  "Just  a  moment,  just  a  moment,"  he  muttered 
consolingly  between  his  teeth,  leaning  forward  while 
the  vaqueros  tightened  the  knots.  Esmeralda  Char- 
ley, with  the  saddle,  hesitated,  and  looked  at  his  mas- 
ter. 

"What  are  you  waiting  for?"  Carron  said. 

The  half-breed  lifted  his  shoulders  with  a  faint, 
resigned  shrug.  He  clicked  his  teeth  hard  together 
as  he  pulled  the  cinches  around  the  horse's  shivering 
middle. 

"Just  a  minute,  just  a  minute!"  It  seemed  to 
Carron  that  his  brain  had  been  repeating  that  for 
ever.  Always  the  next  minute.  Now,  at  last,  before 
he  realized  it,  he  was  in  that  minute — the  brief, 
flashing  space  of  time  which  he  had  looked  forward 
to  for  long.  He  was  seated  in  saddle.  The  horse's 
four  legs  were  under  him.  Between  his  knees,  the 
black  sides  expanded,  trembling  with  a  great  breath. 
The  creature  seemed  scarcely  to  stand,  rather  to 

394 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

hover  for  an  instant  between  his  struggle  up  from 
the  earth  and  his  bound  into  the  air.  Carron  found 
himself  borne  toward  the  clouds ;  felt  the  back  hump 
under  him,  the  shoulders  heave  and  shake,  a  magnifi- 
cent, negligent  motion.  Only  half  the  strength  of 
the  horse  went  into  it,  he  was  so  sure  of  getting  rid 
of  the  weight.  Then,  the  easy  concussion  when  they 
touched  earth  again,  alighting  with  wings,  the 
young  fetlocks  yielding  and  springing,  resilience  run- 
ning through  the  whole  frame;  then  the  stop,  sus- 
pension of  motion,  as  the  astonished  back  realized 
itself  still  burdened.  That  was  the  amazing  sensa- 
tion for  the  rider — to  feel  the  body  shrink  and  try  to 
shiver  away  from  under  him;  then,  with  muscles 
stiffening,  gathering  themselves,  drawing  energy 
from  an  inexhaustible  source,  leap !  He  was  carried 
upward  again,  mounting  air. 

However  high  and  mightily  imagination  had  built, 
no  dream  could  ever  approach  this  moment  of  the 
flaming  fact.  Nothing  he  had  fancied  was  like  the 
tremendous  stretch  and  play  of  the  muscles  that 
contracted  and  extended  themselves  betwee/i  his 
grasping  knees;  nothing  like  the  sense  of  strength 
gathering,  gathering  itself,  increasing  doubly  with 
every  spent  effort.  Wonderful  to  feel  that  fountain 
of  power  beneath  power.  Leap  high  as  it  would  it 
only  carried  him  higher.  Yet,  for  a  few  minutes  it 

395 


SON   OE   THE  .WIND 

struggled  with  persisting  determination  to  leap  high 
enough  to  leave  him  behind.  Abruptly  all  that  al- 
tered, the  aspiring  for  the  clouds,  the  shaking  force, 
the  thundering.  The  change  was  as  sharp  as  if  a 
human  mind  had  conceived  it.  He  felt  himself  car- 
ried sidewise  lightly.  He  was  swept  toward  the  side 
of  the  enclosure  as  if  he  were  to  be  carried  over  it; 
then  away  to  the  other  side;  then,  giddily,  rapidly 
backward.  Insane,  unimagined  movements  took  him 
here  and  there,  softly,  delicately  as  if  upon  feathers! 
then  suddenly,  the  unexpected  excruciating  twist  and 
fling  that  meant  to  be  rid  of  him. 

His  brain  was  working  furiously,  his  nerves  at 
full  stretch  to  meet  the  brute's  guile,  his  hands  and 
his  body  ready  to  counteract,  to  check,  to  meet  every 
danger  as  it  sharpened.  The  abundant  energy  in 
him  streamed  out  to  the  conflict.  He  was  in  the 
furnace  of  action,  at  play  on  the  edge  of  life  where 
love  of  living  is  keenest,  his  blood  on  fire  with  the 
joy  of  violent  motion.  All  the  world  around  him 
seemed  in  motion,  the  woods  waved  like  a  curtain; 
the  canvas  of  the  corral  revolved  slowly ;  dark  spots 
floated  against  it.  These  were  the  vaqueros'  faces. 
He  had  no  fear  of  being  unseated.  Such  fears  were 
years  behind  him;  but  a  fear  he  had  not  thought  of 
before  seized  him  now  as  the  white  sides  of  the  in- 
closure  rushed  near  him  on  this  side,  on  that.  The 

396 


SON  OF  .THE  WIND: 

barrier,  the  work  of  his  hands,  which  he  had  thought 
of  as  so  strong  and  safe,  appeared  to  him  suddenly 
terribly  penetrable.  It  was  in  fact  no  barrier  at 
all,  but  only  a  phantom,  an  appearance  of  a  barrier 
between  the  horse  and  the  forest.  If  the  stallion 
charged  it,  wouldn't  it  break  like  a  cobweb?  Was 
this  the  end  of  all  the  bright  adventure,  to  have  the 
prize  slip  from  him  and  be  lost  in  the  hopeless,  end- 
less wilderness  ? 

A  horror  seized  him.  Why  hadn't  he  thought  of 
this  before?  How  had  he  rushed  so  headlong  into 
this  position?  Why  hadn't  the  half-breed  spoken  of 
the  danger,  instead  of  staring  dumb,  with  the  saddle 
in  his  hands?  Was  he  going  crazy  himself?  How 
was  there  any  danger?  In  five  years  no  horse  had 
ever  tested  the  resistance  of  the  walls.  But  a  reply 
leaped,  prompt  and  uncomforting  in  his  mind. 
Horses  had  never  been  broken  in  the  canvas  cor- 
ral. They  had  been  captured  and  hobbled  here, 
but  they  had  not  been  saddled  here  and  mounted. 
They  had  never  been  driven  here  to  the  third  degree 
of  madness  when  they  cease  to  see,  cease  to  fear, 
welcome  anything — a  dead  wall  or  a  descending  cliff 
— rather  than  endure  the  will  which  stays  persist- 
ently above  them. 

It  was  no  chance  that  threatened.  It  was  cer- 
tainty; it  came  always,  inevitably,  the  last  stage  of 

397 


SON    OF   THE   WIND. 

the  fight.  Carron  sensed  the  approach  of  it  now, 
the  loosing  of  the  one  great  terror.  Memories  of 
former,  lesser  battles  swam  through  his  head ;  mem- 
ories of  being  dashed  against  stockades  of  rails  and 
stakes.  The  dread  he  had  known  then  of  the  stout, 
resisting  substance,  the  crash  against  it,  the  injury, 
the  pain,  was  as  nothing  to  his  present  dread  of 
being  flung  against  the  canvas  and  feeling  it  yield 
like  silk.  At  what  moment  would  this  wild  birth 
of  the  wind  stumble  upon  his  freedom?  He  was 
courting  it  as  a  reckless  man  courts  his  death,  un- 
aware of  how  near  he  comes  to  it.  He  would  have 
it  now!  This  was  the  charge  that  could  not  be 
stopped ! 

Carron  felt  himself  carried,  helpless  and  light,  as 
a  cork  on  the  current.  The  white  edge  of  the  canvas 
raced  for  him.  The  forest  behind  it  marched  upon 
him.  He  flung  his  weight  back  in  the  saddle,  elbows 
came  hard  back,  knees  pressed,  and  wrists  like  iron 
gave  the  sharp,  steady  pull  at  the  certain  moment. 
Black  trees  moved  in  procession  along  his  sight,  and 
swung  away  from  it;  and  around  came  the  rocky 
banks  of  the  stream.  The  breadth  of  the  enclosure 
was  before  him.  The  body  of  the  horse  quivered 
like  a  machine  suddenly  stopped.  It  had  felt  the 
weight  of  man,  the  passive,  stubborn  endurance,  but 
not  the  terrible  assertion  of  power,  the  curb.  That 

398 


, 

SON    OF   THE   WIND 

came,  a  fresh  horror.  The  rider  had  not  time  to 
realize  what  had  happened  before  he  was  swept 
headlong,  across  the  clearing  toward  the  high  and 
ragged  bank.  The  wall  of  the  enclosure  concealed  it, 
but  Carron  knew  well  enough  it  was  there.  He  tried 
to  remember  how  far  down  the  wall  extended  to  the 
silent,  flowing  water.  The  smell  of  wet  moss  and 
earth  was  in  his  nostrils.  He  braced  for  the  fall. 
He  was  not  conscious  of  trying  to  resist  it,  but,  be- 
fore his  mind  could  grasp  such  possibility,  his  greater 
self  had  brought  it  about.  He  was  refacing  the  arena 
of  struggle.  He  was  dazed,  amazed,  incredulous 
with  delight.  It  did  not  need  that  there  should  be 
walls  to  contain  the  frantic  creature  in  the  narrow 
circle.  Carron  alone  held  him  there.  It  was  a  mira- 
cle, himself  the  god.  Triumph  lifted  him  to  the  top 
wave.  He  was  in  control,  seated  again  above  the 
world,  anticipating  submission. 

It  came  unexpectedly,  with  a  dead  pause  in  the 
middle  of  the  corral.  It  was  too  complete.  He  sus- 
pected. He  tightened  the  grip  of  his  knees.  At 
the  same  time  he  heard  a  voice  calling  faintly.  One 
of  those  dark,  dancing  sparks  was  giving  tongue. 
He  recognized  Esmeralda  Charley's  voice,  no  word 
distinguished,  only  a  piercing  quality  of  sound 
which  meant  warning.  Then  the  strange  sensation. 
Some  large  thumb  and  finger  of  fate  seemed  to  have 

399 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

i 

seized  him.     He  was  tossed  up  and  down,  now  in 

air,  now  upon  solid  ground  again,  with  a  grinding 
shock  driving  along  his  spine  into  his  head.  After 
a  little  his  head  seemed  disassociated  from  his  body, 
and  white  stars  floated  before  his  eyes.  He  was  not 
struggling,  he  was  not  controlling,  he  was  holding 
to  something,  and  still  he  saw  the  pommel  of  the 
saddle  jumping  beneath  his  eyes,  and  a  flying  rag 
of  mane.  Then  he  was  no  longer  upon  a  horse,  but 
upon  a  tower  that,  for  a  moment,  held  itself  straight 
up  in  the  air,  then  tottered  and  leaned  backward.  He 
was  clinging  to  the  under  side  of  it,  helpless,  spur- 
ring. 

He  heard  repeated  shouts.  He  had  no  thought 
of  past  or  future,  or  of  anything,  but  that  his  hands 
still  held  to  something  solid  and  living,  and  would 
hold  to  that.  Yet  all  rules  and  laws  seemed  reversed. 
He  saw  the  sky  where  the  trees  should  have  been. 
The  curb  that  should  have  been  tight  flew  loose 
against  his  face.  Dark  like  a  shadow  came  over  him. 
His  knees  loosened  as  the  mass  descended  upon  him. 
His  hands  opened,  and,  closing,  grasped  air. 

Gradually  he  became  conscious  of  dull  pain,  in- 
creasing with  return  of  light.  His  cheek  was  rest- 
ing on  flinty  substance.  He  half  unclosed  his  eyes 
and  saw  a  white  level  stretching  from  where  he  lay. 

400 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

A  swarm  of  confused  memories  rose  in  his  mind. 
He  thought  he  was  lying  on  the  rock  above  the 
quicksand.  He  moved  his  head,  and  opened  his  eyes 
wider,  expecting  to  see  the  Sphinx.  He  saw  at 
short  distance  a  tumult  of  dust,  from  the  heart  of 
which  came  sounds  like  blows.  Then  a  head  like  a 
black  snake's  rose  out  of  the  cloud.  He  saw  the  ears 
laid  flat,  the  nostrils  expanded  thin,  the  line  of  the 
frontal  bone  showing  keen.  It  had  been  less  pitiful 
without  that  look  of  fury,  less  terrible  without  the 
look  of  despair.  Then  a  sound  shrill  and  appalling, 
a  voice  without  articulate  words  crying  on  the 
heavens  to  witness  man.  Then  the  head  disap- 
peared. Still  the  cloud  of  dust,  and,  out  of  it,  four 
feet  kicking  frantically,  struggling  with  an  enemy, 
invisible,  more  overpowering  than  man.  Then  ©nly 
a  cloud  of  dust. 

Lifted  up  on  his  hands,  Carron  watched  this  turn 
and  drift  like  a  curtain.  There  was  not  the  smallest 
movement  behind  it  now — not  a  sound.  He  won- 
dered at  the  stillness.  For  so  long  his  ears  had  been 
full  of  the  clamor  of  sounds,  his  eyes  reporting 
pictures  of  rapid  motion.  His  brain  laboring 
against  odds  of  cunning  and  strength.  Now 
everything  was  quiet,  harmless.  He  could  have  lain 
where  he  was  for  ever  and  been  untouched.  The 
curtain  was  drifting  lower  and  growing  thinner, 

401 


SON    OF   THE    WIND 

and  through  it  he  began  to  see  the  outline  of  a  black 
lump. 

He  sat  up.  The  sharpness  of  the  action  made  him 
dizzy,  and  sent  pains  darting  through  him.  He 
groaned — not  for  his  own  body's  sake.  A  hand 
came  under  his  head  as  though  he  had  been  ill.  A 
brown  face  in  a  black  shock  of  hair  was  looking 
anxiously  at  him.  Yet  he  wasn't  ill.  He  was 
certain  of  that.  He  only  felt  as  though  he 
had  been  pitched  down  from  one  world  to 
another.  He  took  the  flask  presented  to  his  lips 
and  swallowed  what  was  in  it,  and  waited  for  nerve 
and  strength.  But  the  reaction  was  faint.  His  feet 
were  like  lead,  his  veins  were  cold.  He  crawled 
painfully  on  hands  and  knees  across  the  intervening 
space.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  outline  which 
was  becoming  sharper.  Then  the  veil  altogether 
disappeared.  In  fact  he  had  entered  it,  and  the 
thing  it  had  concealed  had  become  strange  and  plain. 
It  was  stretched  out  upon  earth,  the  four  feet  ex- 
tended toward  him.  They  looked  large  and  heavy, 
and  he  could  see  the  hollow  inside  the  hoofs.  The 
legs  were  thin.  The  curve  of  the  barrel  stood  high 
off  the  ground.  He  laid  his  hand  on  it.  It  was 
warm  and  soft  and  still.  He  lifted  him- 
self to  his  knees,  and  saw  what  the  body  had  hidden 
• — the  sunk  neck  and  the  head.  A  film  was  on 

402 


the  eye,  and  flowing  from  somewhere  a  slender 
stream  of  blood. 

An  ugly  thing !  A  bad  thing  for  her  to  see !  The 
thought  of  Blanche  sprang  live  and  clear  out  of  the 
blank  of  his  mind.  There  was  nothing  to  account 
for  the  sudden  vision,  unless  it  were  that  sound  he 
seemed  to  be  hearing,  very  faint,  like  something 
heard  in  a  dream — the  sound  of  some  one  weeping. 
A  flurry  of  fear  went  over  him.  She  must  not  see 
it.  She  had  seen  it  at  the  wrong  time  before,  and  if 
she  saw  it  again  as  it  was  now —  No,  no,  better 
wait  until  he  had  it  as  he  meant  to  have  it!  His 
thought  flawed.  All  his  fiery  determinations 
drooped  and  stopped.  All  the  while  he  had  been 
watching  it,  the  thing  in  front  of  him  had  not 
stirred.  It  looked  more  inert  than  the  earth  it  rested 
on.  Yet  there  was  a  strange  evanescence  about  it, 
like  a  shadow  which  wanes  constantly,  impercep- 
tibly. Could  all  that  pulse,  that  power  of  motion, 
escape  by  such  a  narrow  path  as  the  thin,  dark 
stream  which  flowed  and  flowed  and  settled  in  a  pool 
in  a  depression  of  the  rock,  and  there  slowly,  by  de- 
grees, began  to  sink  out  of  sight.  No  way  of  making 
the  strewn  limbs  gather  themselves  and  stand  up- 
right! No  way  of  wrenching  victory  from  them! 
The  back  that  had  carried  him,  the  .neck  that  had 
been  hot,  the  feet  that  had  been  light,  now  heavy, 

403 


SON   OF,  THE 

stiff,  motionless,  triumphed  over  him.  They  had  got 
beyond  the  reach  of  woman  to  release  or  man  to 
bind. 

He  let  his  arms  fall  at  his  sides.  The  sound  of 
the  crying  was  nearer,  but  it  wasn't  Blanche's  voice. 
A  howl  of  fear  was  in  it.  It  was  odd  that  a  man 
should  be  in  fear,  now  that  everything  had  come 
to  an  end.  He  got  up,  and  stood  swaying  while  the 
horizon  rushed  to  the  middle  of  the  sky,  and  the  sky 
plunged  down  and  seemed  to  swing  in  under  his  feet. 
He  felt  hands  groping  over  him  delicately,  tenderly. 
They  were  the  same  hands  that  had  raised  his  head, 
that  had  given  him  the  brandy.  They  seemed  to 
think  him  an  object  for  pity  and  consideration.  But 
he  could  see,  he  could  breathe,  his  heart  was  beat- 
ing; he  was  conscious  in  all  his  limbs  of  how  sound 
he  was.  If  the  earth  were  shaken  to  pieces  it  seemed 
to  him  he  would  remain  unharmed,  invulnerable, 
good  for  God  knew  how  much  long  living.  This 
solicitude  drove  him  to  a  fury.  He  escaped  from 
the  pitying  hands  and  started  forward.- 

Some  one  stood  in  front  of  him,  not  the  half- 
breed  this,  but  that  other  man  who  was  always  in 
the  way  to  be  stumbled  over.  Carron  pushed  past 
him.  The  man  clawed  at  his  elbow  and  clung  close 
to  it. 

"What's  the  use  of  going  back?"  he  stammered. 
404 


SON   OF   THE  WIND 

"She  won't  look  at  us  now !  My  God !  She'll  never 
look  at  me  again !" 

"Go  away !"  Carron  said  gently.  He  had  cursed 
the  creature  before,  but  now  it  did  not  seem  worth 
doing.  He  shook  him  off  and  walked  on.  The 
cold  waters  of  the  ford  curled  around  his  feet. 
He  looked  down  at  them,  and  saw  them  flow- 
ing— yet  they  seemed  to  him  to  be  stagnant,  dead. 
He  knew  himself  to  be  in  the  shadow  of  pines; 
at  the  same  time  it  appeared  to  him  they  were  prone 
around  his  feet,  shriveled  to  nothing,  dead,  leaving 
him  pitilessly  exposed  under  the  heavens.  Every- 
thing had  a  dual  aspect.  Even  himself.  He 
was  Carron,  an  indifferent  Carron  who  had  come 
to  the  end  of  his  determinations  and  desires,  Carron 
still.  But  there  was  this  other  person  who  was 
hurrying  with  such  resolution  on  an  errand  he 
would  not  disclose. 

He  was  a  strange  fellow.  He  went  as  if  he  had 
an  appointment  with  himself.  There  was  an  oath 
to  be  fulfilled  somewhere.  Carron  felt  a  little 
curious  about  it — a  vague,  mild  curiosity,  far  on  the 
outside.  The  heart  that  was  pounding  on  his  ribs 
must  be  this  fellow's.  There  was  nothing  that  could 
make  Carron's  heart  beat  like  that.  He  wondered, 
if  they  went  very  far  together,  they  might  not  be- 
come friends,  and  explain  themselves,  and  under- 

405 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

stand  each  other.  There  was  plenty  of  time  for  it — 
an  endless  amount  of  time,  and  nothing  but  that  to 
put  in  it.  Yet  the  second  person  was  in  haste,  and, 
perforce,  he  was  dragging  Carron  with  him.  Time 
was  the  solid  thing  to  be  walked  on,  space  the  chilly, 
intangible  power  that  wrapped  his  face  and  shoul- 
ders, stirred  his  hair,  and  made  him  shiver.  He 
had  heard  there  was  no  end  to  either  of  these  things, 
and  just  as  he  was  becoming  convinced  of  the  truth 
of  this,  he  saw  the  end.  The  end  was  a  flight  of 
steps. 

He  looked  at  them  carefully.  There  was  no 
doubt  about  them.  At  the  top  of  them  a  white  door 
was  open,  and  that  was  evidently  the  door  opening 
out  of  the  known  world.  His  possessing  spirit  that 
had  brought  him  here  had  vanished.  He  was 
alone,  and  felt  very  tired,  but  he  continued  to 
stand  looking  up,  expectant,  without  knowing 
what  he  was  waiting  for.  It  was  not  for 
this  woman  who  came  and  stared  at  him  over  the 
railing,  and  fled.  He  did  not  think  he  knew  her. 
But  it  was  for  this  other  one  who  appeared  as  he 
had  expected,  from  the  open  door.  She  came  like 
a  torch  carried  out  upon  the  dark.  Her  appearance 
illuminated  everything  to  him.  The  past  rose  up 
behind  him,  a  vision  of  heights,  with  a  figure  of 
himself  like  a  giant  upon  them.  There  was  a  brush 

406 


SON    OF   THE   WIND 

of  the  wing  of  some  terrific  god,  and  he  stood  here, 
tiny,  upon  a  flat,  inutile  plain.  She  stood  at  the  top 
step  looking  down  at  him.  He  knew  her,  and  where 
he  was  and  why  he  was  there. 

"The  horse  is  dead,"  he  said.  Her  forehead  was 
raised  in  wrinkles,  and  her  mouth  held  tight,  but 
she  wasn't  crying.  She  didn't  believe  him,  perhaps. 
"It's  dead,"  he  repeated,  and  sat  down  on  the  lowest 
step  and  put  his  hands  over  his  eyes.  She  came, 
stood  close  to  him  and  touched  him  timidly. 

"Never  mind,  never  mind!  It  doesn't  matter!" 
she  said  in  a  trembling  voice. 

He  let  his  hands  fall.  "You  don't  understand," 
he  explained.  "It's  the  horse — it  isn't  I.  There's 
nothing  wrong  with  me.  I  am  all  right." 

She  began  to  sob.  He  felt  her  arms  around  his 
head,  her  cheek  against  his  forehead  and  the  hot  rain 
of  her  tears.  She  said  his  name,  and  at  first  nothing 
but  that  over  and  over,  as  if  it  were  he  only  who 
needed  consolation.  It  did  not  matter  to  her,  she 
passionately  assured  him,  it  did  not  matter  at  all  to 
her  that  Son  of  the  Wind  was  dead.  She  was  glad, 
glad,  glad  that  it  was  so !  It  was  the  only  way  out 
for  them  all. 

He  regarded  her  in  dreary  amazement.  How 
could  she  lightly  dismiss  death,  that  final  and  terrible 
fact?  What  was  it  that  looked  so  much  worse  to 

407 


SON   OE  THE   .WIND 

her?  She  had  not  been  flung  down  from  her  moun- 
tain !  .  .  .  Had  she  ?  .  .  .  Now  that  he  thought 
of  it,  he  was  not  sure.  She  had  said  strange  things 
to  him  once,  when  he  had  not  understood  them. 
How  could  a  man  know  what  she  meant  when  it  was 
not  real  things  that  moved  her,  but  the  thoughts  she 
had  about  them?  He  did  not  understand  what  was 
going  on  in  her  mind,  and  he  never  would.  But  her 
shoulder  was  soft  and  her  eyes,  red  with  weeping 
and  sad,  were  valiantly  for  him.  Her  arms  strained 
around  him.  There  was  a  fierceness  in  their  grasp, 
as  if  she  tried  to  hold  something  that  was  far  away 
from  her.  He  seemed  to  be  among  the  pieces  of 
something  that  had  been  his,  something  as  frail  and 
far  away  from  life  as  one  of  her  thoughts.  He  left 
it  to  her.  It  was  for  women  to  gather  up  the  broken 
pieces,  patiently  to  fit  them  together  and  try  to  make 
the  figure  of  Love;  breathe  in  his  lips  and  waken 
the  god  from  that  ghost,  the  ideal. 


THE   END 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET  &   DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

CY  WHITTAKER'S  PLACE.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Illustrated  by  Wallace  Morgan. 

A  Cape  Cod  story  describing  the  amusing  efforts  of  an  el- 
derly bachelor  and  his  two  cronies  to  rear  and  educate  a  little 
girl.  Full  of  honest  fun — a  rural  drama. 

THE  FORGE  IN  THE  FOREST.    By  Charles  G.  D. 

Roberts.    Illustrated  by  H.  Sandham. 
A  story  of  the  conflict  in  Acac"^  after  its  conquest  by  the 
British.     A  dramatic  picture  that  lives  and  shines  with  the  in- 
definable charm  of  poetic  romance. 

A  SISTER  TO  EVANGELINE.      By  Charles  G.  D. 

Roberts.    Illustrated  by  E.  McConnell. 
Being  the  story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went 
into  exile  with  the  villagers  of  Grand   Pre.     Swift  action, 
fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep  passion  and  d*uu«vu 
ing  analysis  characterize  this  strong  novel. 

THE  OPENED  SHUTTERS.     By  Clara  Louise  Burn- 
ham.     Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

A  summer  haunt  on  an  island  in  Casco  Bay  is  the  back- 
ground for  this  romance.  A  beautiful  woman,  at  discord  with 
life,  is  brought  to  realize,  by  her  new  friends,  that  she  may 
open  the  shutters  of  her  soul  to  the  blessed  sunlight  of  joy  by 
casting  aside  vanity  and  self  love.  A  delicately  humorous 
work  with  a  lofty  motive  underlying  it  all. 
THE  RIGHT  PRINCESS.  By  Clara  Louise  Burnham. 

An  amusing  story,  opening  at  a  fashionable  Long  Island  re- 
sort, where  a  stately  Englishwoman  employs  a  forcible  New 
England  housekeeper  to  serve  in  her  interesting  home.  How 
types  so  widely  apart  react  on  each  others'  lives,  all  to  ulti- 
mate good,  makes  a  story  both  humorous  and  rich  in  sentiment. 

THE  LEAVEN  OF  LOVE.     By  Clara  Louise   Burn- 
ham.    Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 
At  a  Southern  California  resort  a  world-weary  woman,  young 
and  beautiful  but  disillusioned,  meets  a  girl  who  has  learned 
the  art  of  living — of  tasting  life  in  all  its  richness,  opulence  and 
joy.    The  story  hinge?  upon  the  change  wrought  in  the  soul 
of  the  blase  woman  by  this  glimpse  into  a  cheery  life,, 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET  &   DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

WHEN  A  MAN  MARRIES.  By  Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 
Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher  and  Mayo  Bunker. 

A  young  artist,  whose  wife  had  recently  divorced  him,  finds  that 
a  visit  is  due  from  his  Aunt  Selina,  an  elderly  lady  having  ideas 
about  things  quite  apart  from  the  Bohemian  set  in  which  her 
nephew  is  a  shining  light.  The  way  in  which  matters  are  tempo* 
rarily  adjusted  forms  the  motif  of  the  story. 

A  farcical  extravaganza,  dramatized  under  the  title  of  "Seven  Days" 

THE  FASHIONABLE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOSHUA 
CRAIG.  By  David  Graham  Phillips.  Illustrated. 

A  young  westerner,  uncouth  and  unconventional,  appears  in 
political  and  social  life  in  Washington.  He  attains  power  in  poli- 
tics, and  a  young  woman  of  the  exclusive  set  becomes  his  wife,  un* 
dertaking  his  education  in  social  amenities. 

"  DOC."  GORDON.  By  Mary  E.  Wiikins-Freeman.  Illus- 
trated by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Against  the  familiar  background  of  American  town  life,  the 
author  portrays  a  group  of  people  strangely  involved  in  a  mystery. 
"Doc."  Gordon,  the  one  physician  of  the  place,  Dr.  Elliot,  his 
assistant,  a  beautiful  woman  and  her  altogether  charming  daughter 
are  ail  involved  in  the  plot.  A  novel  of  great  interest. 

HOLY  ORDERS.     By  Marie  Corelli. 

A  dramatic  story,  in  which  is  pictured  a  clergyman  in  touch  with 
Society  people,  stage  favorites,  simple  village  folk,  powerful  finan- 
ciers and  others,  each  presenting  vital  problems  to  this  man  "in 
holy  orders  " — problems  that  we  are  now  struggling  with  in  America, 

KATRINE.    By  Elinor  Macartney  Lane.   With  frontispiece. 

Katrine,  the  heroine  of  this  story,  is  a  lovely  Irish  girl,  of  lowly 
birth,  but  gifted  with  a  beautiful  voice. 

The  narrative  is  based  on  the  facts  of  an  actual  singer's  careert 
and  the  viewpoint  throughout  is  a  most  exalted  one. 

THE   FORTUNES    OF  FIFI.    By  Molly  Elliot  Seawell. 

Illustrated  by  T.  de  Thulstrup. 

A  story  of  life  in  France  at  the  time  of  the  first  Napoleon.  Fifi, 
a  glad,  mad  little  actress  of  eighteen,  is  the  star  performer  in  a  third 
rate  Parisian  theatre,  A  story  as  dainty  as  a  Watteau  painting. 

SHE  THAT  HESITATES.  By  Harris  Dickson.  Ilius- 
trated  by  C.  W.  Relyea. 

The  scene  of  this  dashing  romance  shifts  from  Dresden  to  St. 
Petersburg  in  the  reign  of  Peter  the  Great,  and  then  to  New  Orleans. 

The  hero  is  a  French  Soldier  of  Fortune,  and  the  princess,  who 
hesitates — but  j^ou  must  read  the  story  to  know  how  she  that  hesitates 
may  be  lost  and  yet  saved. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.  ,  NEW  YORK 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET  &   DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

HAPPY  HAWKINS.    By  Robert  Alexander  Wason.    Illus- 

trated  by  Howard  Giles. 

A  ranch  and  cowboy  novel.  Happy  Hawkins  tells  his  own  story 
with  such  a  fine  capacity  for  knowing  how  to  do  it  and  with  so  much 
humor  that  the  reader's  interest  is  held  in  surprise,  then  admiration 
and  at  last  in  positive  affection. 

COMRADES.  By  Thomas  Dixon,  Jr.  Illustrated  by  C.  D. 
Williams. 

The  locale  of  this  story  is  in  California,  where  a  few  socialists 
establish  a  little  community. 

The  author  leads  the  little  band  along  the  path  of  disillusion- 
ment, and  gives  some  brilliant  flashes  of  light  on  one  side  of  an 
important  question. 
TO  NO-BUN  GAY.    By  Herbert  George  Wells. 

The  hero  of  this  novel  is  a  young  man  who,  through  hard  work, 
earns  a  scholarship  and  goes  to  London. 

Written  with  a  frankness  verging  on  Rousseau's,  Mr.  Wells  stil* 
uses  rare  discrimination  and  the  border  line  of  propriety  is  nevei 
crossed.  An  entertaining  book  with  both  a  story  and  a  moral,  and 
without  a  dull  page — Mr.  Wells's  most  notable  achievement. 

A  HUSBAND  BY  PROXY.    By  Jack  Steele. 

A  young  criminologist,  but  recently  arrived  in  New  York  city, 
is  drawn  into  a  mystery,  partly  through  financial  need  and  partly 
through  his  interest  in  a  beautiful  W9man,  who  seems  at  times  the 
simplest  child  and  again  a  perfect  mistress  of  intrigue.  A  baffling 
detective  story. 

LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN.  By  George  Horton.  Illus- 
trated by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

Mr.  Horton's  powerful  romance  stands  in  a  new  field  and  brings 
an  almost  unknown  world  in  reality  before  the  reader — the  world 
of  conflict  between  Greek  and  Turk  on  the  Island  of  Crete.  The 
"  Helen  "  of  the  story  is  a  Greek,  beautiful,  desolate,  defiant — pure 
as  snow. 

There  is  a  certain  new  force  about  the  story,  a  kind  of  master- 
craftsmanship  and  mental  dominance  that  holds  the  reader. 

THE  MASTER  OF  APPLEBY.  By  Francis  Lynde. 
Illustrated  by  T.  de  Thulstrup. 

"A  novel  tale  concerning  itself  in  part  with  the  great  struggle  in 
the  two  Carolinas,  but  chiefly  with  the  adventures  therein  of  two 
gentlemen  who  loved  one  and  the  same  lady. 

A  strong,  masculine  and  persuasive  story. 

A  MODERN  MADONNA.     By  Caroline  Abbot  Stanley. 

A  story  of  American  life,  founded  on  facts  as  they  existed  some 
years  ago  in  the  District  of  Columbia.  The  theme  is  the  material 
love  and  splendid  courage  of  a  woman. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET   &   DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY.     By  Philip  Verrill  Mighels. 

An  uproariously  funny  story  of  a  tiny  mining  settlement  in  the 
West,  which  is  shaken  to  the  very  roots  by  the  sudden  possession 
of  a  baby,  found  on  the  plains  by  one  of  its  residents.  The  town  is 
as  disreputable  a  spot  as  the  gold  fever  was  ever  responsible  for, 
and  the  coming  of  that  baby  causes  the  upheaval  of  every  rooted 
tradition  of  the  place.  Its  christening,  the  problems  of  its  toys  and 
its  illness  supersede  in  the  minds  of  the  miners  all  thought  of  eartliy 
treasure. 

THE  FURNACE  OF  GOLD.  By  Philip  Verrill  Mighels, 
author  of  "  Bruvver  Jim's  Baby."  Illustrations  by  J.  N. 
Marchand. 

An  accurate  and  informing  portrayal  of  scenes,  types,  and  condi-> 
tions  of  the  mining  districts  in  modern  Nevada. 

The  book  is  an  out-door  story,  clean,  exciting,  exemplifying  no 
bility  and  courage  of  character,  and  bravery,  and  heroism  in  the  sort 
of  men  and  women  we  all  admire  and  wish  to  know. 

THE  MESSAGE.    By  Louis  Tracy.  Illustrations  by  Joseph 

C.  Chase. 

A  breezy  tale  of  how  a  bit  of  old  parchment,  concealed  in  a  figure- 
head from  a  sunken  vessel,  comes  into  the  possession  of  a  pretty 
girl  and  an  army  man  during  regatta  week  in  the  Isle  of  Wight. 
This  is  the  message  and  it  enfolds  a  mystery,  the  development  of 
which  the  reader  will  follow  M'ith  breathless  interest. 

THE  SCARLET  EMPIRE.  By  David  M.  Parry.  Illus- 
trations by  Hermann  C.  Wall. 

A  young  socialist,  weary  of  life,  plunges  into  the  sea  and  awakes 
in  the  lost  island  of  Atlantis,  known  as  the  Scarlet  Empire,  where 
a  social  democracy  is  in  full  operation,  granting  every  man  a  living 
but  limiting  food,  conversation,  education  and  marriage. 

The  hero  passes  through  an  enthralling  love  affair  and  other  ad- 
ventures but  finally  returns  to  his  own  New  York  world. 

THE  THIRD  DEGREE.  By  Charles  Klein  and  Arthui 
Hornblqw.  Illustrations  by  Clarence  Rowe. 

A  novel  which  exposes  the  abuses  in  this  country  of  the  polici 
system. 

The  son  of  .«m  aristocratic  New  York  family  marries  a  woman 
socially  beneath  him,  but  of  strong,  womanly  qualities   that,  latei  , 
on,  save  the  man  from  the  tragic  consequences  of  a  dissipated  life. 

The  wife  believes  in  his  innocence  and  her  wit  and  good  sense 
help  her  to  win  against  the  tremendous  odds  imposed  by  law. 

THE  THIRTEENTH  DISTRICT.  By  Brand  Whitlock, 
A  realistic  western  story  of  love  and  politics  and  a  searching  study 
of  their  influence  on  character.  The  author  shows  with  extraoidi- 
nary  vitality  of  treatment  the  tricks,  the  heat,  the  passion,  the  tu- 
mult of  the  political  arena  the  triumph  and  strength  of  love. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


A    000038813     2 


